Reliant
by CuppaTea13
Summary: After their parents' deaths, siblings Clint and Arlie Barton were lost to each other. Years later, after joining SHIELD, Clint finds her again. This is their story. (Rated T to be safe.)
1. The Tale of Arlie & Clint

**Hello, everyone. This is my first foray into anything multi-chapter by way of fanfiction. So. Very. Nervous. Anyways, it's Avengers and it's basically an imagining I had of adding a sister for Clint into the mix. I'm not necessarily planning on having anyone fall in love with her romantically- if it happens to naturally grow in the story I'll roll with it, but it's not planned. I have large portions of this written out in great detail with equally large gaps in between. But I promise to finish it. I hate when authors post stories and don't finish it- it almost gives me physical pain so I swear not to do that to you (I'd feel like the biggest hypocrite ever if I did). So I have no structured plan for posting next chapters. I should do something about once a week but I make no promises because writer's block works on no man's schedule.**

**And that's enough from me so let's get on with the story, shall we?**

* * *

**October 7th, 1981- December 22nd, 1984 (Clint)**

It all began, really, when I was 2. I don't recall the day, but I do know that mom wasn't really expecting the news that she was going to have another baby. I don't recall mom being pregnant- but I do recall, dimly, the hospital and waiting. Lots of waiting with Barney on the other side of me and dad coming out to check on us once in a while and it seemed like it was taking _forever_ for mom to get my new sibling.

I recall a nurse with brown hair and blue scrubs asking me if I wanted a sister or a brother. I told her I already had a brother but I was going to be the big brother this time.

She chuckled.

I don't remember going in to see mom, but I do remember her handing a little bundle over to me telling me to be careful and looking at this lumpy, red, strange thing my mother just placed in my arms. She arranged me so that one arm went behind the thing's head and across her back and another wrapped up towards her shoulder from her waist. I was holding a baby.

"This is your sister, we're calling her Arlie. She's Arlie Clara Barton." It was the softest whisper, I remember- my mother's voice.

No, I lied. It all started when I was five.

Arlie was three and running around everywhere and getting into things. She was chaos in footies.

"Clint- I need you to watch your sister for a few minutes, take care of her. OK?"

Yes- that was when it started. When it _really_ started because it was then that I made the conscious decision to be a big brother.

I looked at that whirlwind in pink with a goofy smile and I decided.

"I'll take care of her mom, don't worry."

When the few minutes were over and my mother was back, the decision remained.

This was _my_ sister. And she was mine to take care of. So that was what I was going to do.

Looking back, I guess Barney never had that revelation about either of us.

Because being an older sibling is not a circumstance of birth order or genetics or parents wanting another kid or whatever. Being an older sibling is a decision. Otherwise, you have the title but none of the responsibility. And none of the joy.

Arlie was mine- that was that.

And then it all went wrong.

* * *

**May 19th, 1986**

I was groggy, confused. What had happened? We were in the car coming back from Barney's baseball game. It had gotten so late they had to put the lights on at the field. Arlie thought they were really cool and wanted me to climb a tree with her so she could see them better. I told her it wasn't safe and spent the rest of the time trying to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

Then I realized- the car was weird. Everything was shaped wrong. Or was something wrong with my eyes? There was a weird smell too- something metallic. Or salty. I wasn't quite sure. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't place the memory. My chest hurt where my car seat's strap touched me and there were white things covering the windows.

Was this a very weird dream?

I looked around- Barney was next to me, he looked like he was sleeping, and Arlie was in between us, crying.

"Arlie- oh, Arlie- don't cry- c'mon, I can't let you cry," I tried to get her to quiet down. She was still crying though- sobbing, actually. I looked for our mother- she or Daddy could help Arlie because I couldn't hug her until we were both out of our car seats and the rule was only an adult can unbuckle the car seats.

"Mommy? Dad?" I looked to where my parents were sitting and noticed that the car was _really_ shaped weird up there. There seemed to be a lot of red to. My brain was just making the connection when Barney woke up.

"Mommy? Daddy?" Barney looked around and started panicking- "MOMMY DADDY!" Arlie cried harder. I reached across to grab her hand- only an adult could unbuckle the car seats. It was the rules.

"Boys? Arlie?" my mother's weak voice floated towards us from the passenger seat.

"Mommy?" Barney and I said in unison. Arlie sobbed out something that was probably supposed to be mommy or daddy. Possibly both.

"It's ok, kids. Just calm down. There's been a bit of an accident. The car crashed. Now I need you all to be quiet. Clint- could you take care of Arlie?"

"Yeah- what should I do?"

"Just calm her down, sweetheart. Policemen will be here soon and they'll take care of us." My mother looked over to my father and said his name. Once. Twice. She tried to reach towards him and then pulled her hand away. When her voice came to us next it was strained, and confused me further, but Arlie had stopped crying and I focused on that.

"OK- kids. Are you guys hurt anywhere?"

"No mommy- I'm fine," Barney said, "The seatbelt just hurts a little."

"Clint?" my mother asked.

"I'm ok. The seatbelt hurt me, too. And Arlie looks ok."

"You guys aren't bleeding anywhere? Clint- check Arlie for me?"

"Ok."

"No blood, Mommy," Barney said after a few seconds.

"No blood," I repeated.

"Good," suddenly, we heard sirens. "Ok- now you kids behave for the policemen and look after each other. Mommy's a bit hurt so she's going to have to go see the doctor for awhile. OK?"

Barney and I agreed. Arlie started crying again when the sirens got loud.

"Shhhhh...It's OK, Arlie, we're going to meet some policemen!" I told her she sniffled and tried to calm down.

"Mommy?" she said, "We're gonna meet real policemen?"

"That's right, baby- real policemen. You might even get to ride in a real ambulance. Just like Barney's, but bigger."

My sister sniffled but no longer cried.

The rest is a bit of a blur, but I can remember the EMTs declaring my father dead on the scene. I also remember holding onto Arlie and refusing to leave her side while we were at the hospital.

I don't remember the Doctor coming out to tell us that our mother had died.

* * *

**June 1986**

The first month we were at the orphanage Arlie saw each day as an extended sleepover with a bunch of new friends. But every night she would wake up and cry for our parents. I would crawl into bed next to her and sleep with her.

It also helped my nightmares.

Barney didn't seem to want much to do with us- he grew up suddenly and was in charge. He took care of us but drifted towards other kids. He didn't want to talk about our parents. I told Arlie stories every night because I heard one woman say how sad it was that Arlie probably wouldn't remember them.

For two years every night I crept out of my bed or she out of hers and we shared. The director of the orphanage might have noticed, but didn't stop us.

I have terrifying nightmares of Arlie getting hurt in the crash along with Mom and Dad and then Barney leaves me too because he's drifting so far away and he's within reach but so very very far and I wake up worried because _I told mom I'd take care of Arlie where is Arlie I need to find Arlie is Arlie OK I don't want to be alone where's Arlie_ and I spend the next minute or so checking over my sister to make sure she's safe, she's fine, before I can finally go back to sleep.

Sometimes she wakes up, sometimes she doesn't.

Most of the times in the morning she wakes me by bouncing on the bed and asking me to play with her dolls with her.

* * *

**1987**

When she was six another boy in the orphanage took her dolls and ripped their heads off. They were plastic and just popped right off but she was in tears.

Barney yelled at the kid but I gathered up the dolls and the dresses that were scattered in the sandbox and did my eight-year-old best at doll surgery while I asked the director to put the clothes through the washing machine.

Arlie brought them to bed with her when I gave the ones I was able to fix back to her with their freshly cleaned outfits.

Plastic hurts when it digs into your shoulder blades but Arlie's smile was worth everything.

* * *

**September 4th, 1988**

Arlie was almost seven when the director sat us all down and explained she was going to have to split us up. Arlie sobbed and I tried desperately to get her to stop crying but she just wouldn't and cried herself to sleep that night.

It was a few weeks later when Arlie went to a Foster family and Barney and I went to another orphanage.

That was the last time I saw my sister.


	2. You Can't Steal from Carson's

**OK- second chapter in Reliant. Aren't you impressed? I thought I'd be posting once a week if I was lucky! Now we've got two chapters in as many days! I'm impressed.**

**Little more of Clint's background story here. I promise soon we'll be delving into Arlie's story. But Clint's is so much more interesting and so much more fun to write. So this has all been from Clint's POV so far but we'll be switching it up eventually with some Arlie and I also have plans for some Phil and Natasha POV. Maybe even some of the other Avengers. I haven't decided yet.**

**Warning: some child abuse is referenced in this chapter but nothing is explicitly stated.**

* * *

**February 21st, 1989 (Clint)**

"Clint," I hear Barney's voice, and he's shaking me. But I'm already awake because of the nightmare so I just turn over to look at him.

"What?" I whisper in the dark room we're sharing with about five other boys. I'm glad I'm not in the single room this month- Mr. McGreevy scares me.

"Do you want to leave here?"

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to answer this question. Do I want to leave here? Yes- I want to leave here, with Mr. McGreevy and the cold drafty rooms and all the chores and the punishments if you don't do everything right and the suffocating loneliness that I feel even with Barney around because Barney hasn't been _really _around since the crash but he's still trying, I tell myself. It's hard and he's trying. For me. And Arlie. Because when he's eighteen then we all get out and we'll all be together.

"Yes."

"Grab your stuff." I don't ask where we're going. I don't think to. I'm just grabbing my meager belongings because _we're leaving we're getting out we'll get caught but Barney's older he'll know what to do we're leaving we're going away we'll never have to come back here I'll never sleep in that room again I'll never see this place again we're going away we're leaving we're getting out_.

We're walking and running with backpacks on our backs when I finally ask.

"We going to get Arlie?"

"I don't know where she is, Clint, so we can't get her."

"But-"

"No buts, Clint. She's fine."

"How do you know?"

"The social worker tells us every time she comes remember?"

_But the social worker doesn't know anything. She thinks we're fine too._

"Ok."

A few moments of silence pass as I continue to follow Barney. Then I speak again.

"Where are we going?"

"The circus."

I'm almost ten years old and the circus sounds like magic and all good things and isn't that what the stories always say- the orphan boy runs away to the circus? And I'm lucky- I may be an orphan, but I have Barney, and one day we'll find Arlie and we'll all be together and we can have our own circus act together.

We hide in a trailer that night after sneaking some food from what Barney insists on calling the "galley."

Apples and bread never tasted so good.

_I hope Arlie's all right._

* * *

**March 1st, 1989**

It's an acrobat who finds us and brings us to a man called Carson who owns the Carnival. After Barney talks to him for a few minutes he agrees to let us stay. I'm sent to work with the clowns and Barney gets to work with the acrobat who found us.

"Now what's your name, short stuff?" asks one clown as he organizes a big make-up kit with lots of powders and cremes. I do my best to help.

"Clint," I say, not noticing how he follows behind me to fix all the chores I've done so it's done properly.

"What do you like to do, Clint?"

I think for a moment- I haven't really done much for myself in awhile. I like playing with Arlie, but I'm not going to tell this grown-up I like playing dolls with my baby sister. So I pick something I remember playing with other kids my age before it all went wrong.

"I like playing superheroes."

The clown chuckles a little then tells me.

"Well you're in luck, we're all superheroes here."

* * *

**April 7th, 1989**

It's two days after my 11th birthday and one of the performers called Trick Shot is messing around with the girl acrobats and the girl who rides the horses in the rings. He starts shooting a bow and arrows and throwing knives and it looks like the coolest thing I've ever seen.

The girl who rides the horses, Kelly, notices me watching.

"Come here, Clint," she calls to me, "You want to watch with us?" I nod and move so I sit by her. Kelly throws an arm around me and I feel safe and warm and I'm watching Trick Shot throw knives and use a bow and he's the greatest thing I've ever seen and the next thing I know he's asking me if I want to try.

"Yes, please," I say, standing nervously. I don't want to mess up in front of everyone, but at least Barney isn't here to see if I do really bad. Trick Shot spends about five minutes talking to me about how to work the bow and then hands it to me with a single arrow.

"Now be careful with that, it's sharp," Kelly shouts over to us from her seat in the stands.

"He's a clever boy- he'll be fine," is Trick Shot's reply. I'm feeling the pressure now and Trick Shot squeezes my shoulder and says, "Go ahead, kid, give it a go."

I breathe in and out. Focusing on my breathing means I won't notice all the people watching- there are some hands who were chatting while cleaning things up who are watching now too but it all goes away as I force myself to focus on my breathing and the bow in my hands. I look at the target and aim. I pull back the arrow and the amount of strength it takes makes my arm shake a bit. That's no good so I hold it for a second and focus just on breathing again. Then I let it loose.

"WOW! Bullseye, Clint! Bravo!" shouts Kelly and the others all clap.

"Say, kid," says Trick Shot, looking down at me with something new in his eyes, "You've got some talent. You ever do something like this before?" I shake my head no, "Well, I'm gonna teach you. You can be part of the act."

I'm terrified of performing in front of even _more_ people, but I've found something I'm really good at and Trick Shot wants to teach me and the others are applauding and talking about how talented I am "a natural" so I nod my head and feel my soul take off.

I don't notice Barney frowning in the shadows of the tent.

* * *

**July 9th, 1991**

I've been training with Trick Shot forever so when the Swordsman decides to start teaching me things, too, I'm over the moon. They're both teaching me and between them and all my chores and Kelly teaching me reading and math stuff I'm always busy and exhausted by the end of the day.

The Swordsman intimidates me. He's not like Trick Shot who calls me "kid" and claps me on the back and talks about how I'll join the act and bring in more people to see the Kid Wonder Shot. The Swordsman watches me with careful eyes and never smiles. He tried to teach me about swords but I wasn't as good as I was with a bow. He taught me how to throw knives and how to fight with them. When Trick Shot asked him why he was teaching me that last one he just said "Never know what kind of trouble you'll get into out there."

I liked the bow the best. I could shot upside down in the ropes; I could shot with a blindfold on when Trick Shot clapped once where the target was; I could shoot three arrows at a time and not miss a single one; I could shoot fast and far and it was like being free.

I couldn't wait to show Arlie.

Then it all went wrong.

* * *

**October 31st, 1995**

I was walking outside the fairgrounds when I heard a commotion. Thinking one of the animals might have gotten loose, I went to investigate. I saw the Swordsman and he was pointing his sword (a big, gleaming, sharp weapon that I still struggled to lift sometimes) at the paymaster.

"What're you doing Swordsman?"

"Shut up, Joe,"

"Is this why the accounts have been short lately? You been stealing from Carson's?"

"SHUT UP JOE! Now- I got some money owed to people and I need it fast. Just fork it over."

"I can't let you steal from Carson's, Swordsman- how much have you taken already?"

"JUST GIVE ME THE CASH, DAMN IT!"

"Swordsman!" I yell, jumping in, "What's going on. Why are you stealing from Carson?"

"It's none of your business, now go back to the tent and forget you saw anything."

"No- Carson took us in- I can't let you steal from him." I was upset- Swordsman was one of my teachers, yes, but Carson took in me and Barney. Let us stay. And Barney said Carson told him he'd help us look for Arlie in every city we stopped in. We'd no luck yet, but we'd find her soon.

"Oh, don't be so righteous, boy- Carson just wanted cheap labor and that's all you and your brother ever were to him. Now just go back to the big top."

"That's not true!" I shouted.

"Now, Clint," his voice suddenly had gone cold and reminded me of the sword that was now pointed at me, "I don't want to hurt you, I can cut you in if you want."

"You-you-you can't steal from Carson's." I repeated, my eyes on the blade before me.

"Clint-" his voice was a warning.

"NO!" I shouted and I tried to get the sword out of my way with a knife I had tucked in my boot. I was still in my costume from the act so I had knives stashed all over me and my quiver and bow on my back.

Never bring a knife to a sword fight.

I was bleeding from a cut on my arm, a gash on my thigh, and a slice across my chest that had cut through my quiver and caused it to tumble to the ground. I had a knife in each hand and was suddenly grateful the Swordsman had taught me how to fight with all the weapons I did tricks with.

Then he lunged at me and I stopped being grateful to him.

I ducked and rolled through his legs. _Benefits of being friends with acrobats._ He pivoted and was about to get a good slice through me when a voice boomed.

"STOP!"

It was Mr. Carson and I fell to the ground in relief.

"Clint!" I heard Kelly and Trick Shot shout. I saw Trick Shot punch Swordsman across the face so hard my old weapons teacher fell to the ground. Kelly bent over me and the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Barney looking down on me from over her shoulder.


	3. Leading the Bloody Dance

**Longer chapter here for number three! Wow- I'm sending these out faster than I expected. I'm sure at some point I'll be stymied for about a month to make up for it. Anyways- more Clint. It's really heartbreaking and I want nothing more than to give our Hawkeye a great big hug but that's what Arlie's for- she's very hug-y with her big brother. What do you think she's going to do when she finds out about Barney? Ooooh. Now I referenced Barney's later relationship with his siblings in the first chapter but this is where you'll learn why. So. Enjoy.**

**(And please review- that's right, I'm actually asking now. Told myself I wouldn't do it, but I am. Oh well.)**

* * *

**November 1st, 1995 (Clint)**

"You shouldn't have done that," Barney told me when he came to visit me the next day. I had woken to find out that Trick Shot and Swordsman had had a massive fight after I passed out and Swordsman got away. Trick Shot had a few cuts and bruises but nothing serious. Kelly was looking after the two of us. Turns out Swordsman had been stealing from Carson's for a while- several years. The clowns figure it was because of his gambling. I didn't care.

_He got away_.

"He was your teacher- you don't just betray someone like that, Clint!"

"But he was stealing," I said, trying to make Barney understand.

"He needed that money, Clint! And he spent all that time on you- fixing your mistakes- teaching you how to be a performer so you don't have to work with the rest of the hands. DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE? Just because the first time you picked up a bow you got a lucky shot! Aren't you grateful at all? You don't care do you- no, you don't care about anyone but yourself. Look at you- the Amazing Hawkeye. You don't care who does what for you- you only look out for yourself!"

"That's not true!" I protested, about to sit up before the stinging of my chest reminded me I was hurt. "He was stealing, and it's wrong, and"

"Oh, SHUT UP, Clint! You're such a goody-goody! You don't care about anyone but yourself and you know it!"

"Barney!"

"That's it- I'm leaving! I'm done being the one who doesn't get anything- I'm tired of you being the lucky one. I'm tired of you being everybody's favorite!"

"Barney! Wait!"

"Shut up, Clint- I don't care. You're selfish and spoiled rotten and you aren't even grateful for the people who stuck their necks out for you. Like me- you've never done ANYTHING for me!"

"Barney! Barney! I'm sorry! I'll do better! Barney!" but he was already gone.

Kelly found me later and I was almost embarrassed about being sixteen years old and crying like a baby. But Barney had left me and Kelly just held my hand and changed the bandages on my arm, leg, and chest.

"It'll probably scar," she whispered when she was done and I had stopped crying.

I wasn't sure if she was talking about the sword wounds or Barney's.

* * *

**November 25th, 1995**

"Mr. Carson, I know Barney left, but I was wondering if you would still help out finding my sister when we stop." I said- worried that Mr. Carson would think like Barney and feel like I wasn't grateful for everything everyone did for me. I was worried if he thought that he'd stop helping us look for Arlie.

"What are you talking about, Hawkeye?" he said, looking up at me over some paperwork he was doing. He was half in his ringleader uniform and half in street clothes. I was used to it. Most of the performers seemed to exist in some sort of blend between street clothes and their costumes whenever they were outside the ring. I did too. I usually wore some black jeans, a worn shirt with my quiver and knives from my costume.

"Looking for my sister, sir," I said, wondering what he was working on that had him so distracted.

"You've got a sister? I didn't know that. You don't know where she is?"

"You mean Barney didn't talk to you about her?"

"No- Barney hadn't talked to me much besides when he left. He came in here, got his final paycheck, and left. Otherwise, I haven't said so much as three sentences to him in one go since you two showed up."

My world was slowly closing in on itself. I said something to Mr. Carson, I'm not sure what, and retreated. I fled to the big top where I climbed into the rigging for the acrobats and sat there in silence.

Barney said he and Mr. Carson were looking for Arlie.

Mr. Carson didn't even know about Arlie.

Barney lied.

Why would Barney lie? Didn't he miss Arlie?

I pictured Arlie as I had last seen her: a little seven year old girl with brown hair in two braids that I had done for her myself and eyes the same color as mine. She had lost one of her front teeth and was talking funny because she wasn't used to it yet.

Barney left me.

We both left Arlie.

Oh, god- what did we do?

Did Barney not love us?

Do I not love Arlie enough?

I should've looked for her myself.

Barney thought she was safe- he didn't think he needed to look for her. He probably only said he was to make me feel better.

But she might not be safe.

Oh, I should've looked for her myself.

I left Arlie behind.

She's fourteen now.

And I left her behind.

* * *

**January 2nd, 1998**

It was official. Carson's Circus was no more. Carson himself had died from a heart attack a few months back so at least he didn't have to see his dream die. The rest of us weren't quite sure what to do. Trick Shot and Kelly were setting off on their own- going to get married and maybe join another circus. They offered to bring me with them. But I decided to look for Barney. I was sure if I could just find him I'd be able to talk some sense into him and we'd look for Arlie and we'd fix everything.

We'd just have to work together a little bit and we could fix it.

I hugged Trick Shot and Kelly goodbye and let Kelly cry and fuss over me a little bit. She told me to come back around June for the wedding if I could.

Neither of them said anything about Barney. After initially trying to talk me out of finding him, they had given up in an effort to keep the peace for what little time we had left together.

Trick Shot shook my hand and wished me luck and neither of us talked about how his eyes were strangely bright.

"Now, don't forget- when you're shooting don't forget the wind." he told me. I never really understood why he felt the need to say this all the time- we shot inside the big top usually, where there was no wind. But I nodded and waved goodbye and set out on my own.

I just needed to find my brother.

But first, maybe Arlie.

I went to the last place I knew she lived. I asked everyone there; they barely remembered her let alone could tell me where she was now. And since I had nothing- no birth certificate, no photo ID of any kind- to prove I was her brother, they wouldn't tell me anything even if they did know.

Frustrated, I went back to looking for Barney.

* * *

**August 16th, 1998**

I found Barney.

He told me he had a job for us so we could save up for when we found Arlie with a man who he'd worked for before. The man just needed us to be security guards for some of his important business partners.

I thought it all sounded shady, but I wanted Barney to stay with me so I didn't say anything.  
I didn't even mention how he lied about Arlie before.

While we were acting as security guards someone tried to punch one of the "business" men. I took him out with a few moves Swordsman had taught me.

The man who hired Barney and me suddenly wanted to hire me more often.

Barney gave me a look so I did whatever the man said.

* * *

**August 30th, 1998**

One day I was seen practicing with my bow.

They asked how well I could shoot from a distance.

I gave a demonstration.

They asked me to shoot at a person- "Won't actually hit them- just a warning- you know."

Barney looked at me and I said OK.

* * *

**March 3rd, 2000**

He was supposed to shoot a man.

It wasn't a particularly nice man- a mobster who had probably killed dozens of people.

But Clint was going to kill him.

"Do you think this money'll be enough to find Arlie?" I asked Barney.

"We'll see."

_I don't want to do this I don't think I can do this I'm going to be sick I have to do this we need money if we're ever going to see Arlie again we need to get papers made up since we don't have ours any more since we ran away to keep me safe from Mr. McGreevy it's all my fault I have to do this Barney's the big brother he knows what he's doing oh god I'm twenty years old and I'm going to kill a man._

He died quickly. I shot him straight through the heart. Barney said we'd need more money for travel expenses to get around looking for Arlie. We just barely had enough to get some good fake documents. Really, if we wanted the best quality ones (and I think we should get the best money can buy, Clint, they won't let us near her if they think we have fakes) we'd need to do a couple more jobs.

* * *

**April 5th, 2002**

I am officially twenty three years old and I've killed more than that many men. I prefer not to count exactly how many. _Forty seven._

I'm tired. I'm so very tired. And I've come to the conclusion that Barney has never stopped lying to me.

And I'm the worst brother in the world for letting him take me away from Arlie.

I promised I'd take care of her.

Some job I'm doing.

I enter the apartment I share with Barney and put down my bow. It's time.

"Barney," I say as he walks in from his room.

"Yeah, bro?" he says, turning on the TV and flipping through channels.

"You're not ever going to look for Arlie are you?"

"What? Why would you say that? Of course we're going to look for her. We've just got to save up a bit more cash and then we'll all be together-"

My fist slams into the wall. I punch straight through the dry wall and I can feel my knuckles starting to bleed.

"STOP LYING!" I'm furious. For the first time ever I'm blindingly furious with my brother.

No.

This man before me- he is not my brother.

My brother wouldn't do this.

My brother wouldn't lead me to becoming an assassin.

My brother wouldn't abandon our sister and then use her as emotional bribery to tie me to this. To use her as emotional leverage to make me smear blood on my hands.

No.

"I am leaving. You are on your own. You once told me I was selfish. Well, Barney- you should look in the mirror when you say things like that."

I grab my bow, I grab the bag I had packed earlier that day, I keep the money I was paid for that last job and I walk away as the man's face turns red and he screams at me.

I don't know what to do now. There isn't anything I can do. I'm a murderer. An assassin. I could go to jail any moment now if someone caught me. I only have the money from the very last job- Barney still has the rest.

I'm not going back there to get it from him.

God, Arlie is twenty years old now.

What would she say if she knew what I'd done?

I'm never seeing my sister again.

She's lost to me.

Lost in a sea of red blood that I painted myself with while deluding myself that it was in her name.

She'd be so ashamed. She'd be disgusted. She'd hate me.

I hate myself.

What do I do now?

I take another contract- there is nothing else _to_ do.

I am Hawkeye.

I am an assassin.

That is all I will ever be.


	4. Interlude: The First Shot

**So a little treat for you guys while I'm still working on the next chapter. I realized that this was a scene that should be written but I somehow managed to skip over it. Yes, there is nothing really plot-wise, but still: good moment. Something a little lighter to make up for all the badness that's been going on in Clint's life. Because there are some wonderful moments he has: like this one.**

**I personally love the rush you get when you're nervous and walking out to perform, so that inspired this a bit.**

* * *

**September 1st, 1992 (Clint)**

"Alright, kid-" begins Trick Shot as I fidget in my costume. Kelly had helped make it and she made sure there were lots of pockets to stash knives in and they were sewn in such a way that it was barely noticeable I had blades on me at all. My quiver was a gift from Trick Shot for my last birthday and he was mentioning getting me a new bow for Christmas.

But all of this paled before the fact that I was about to perform.

In front of people.

For the first time.

I'd performed before, obviously, but that was in front of the other circus people. It was just Carson's so there was, after the first few times, very little anxiety. But these were normal people who had normal lives and normal families and were paying to watch me shoot a bow and throw some knives.

Crap, they're scary.

"Now just go out there and break a leg," says Kelly as she passes by us in her costume: a gold, sequined and feathered get-up that she says is a pain to clean but always makes her feel a bit like a princess.

Trick Shot hasn't stopped giving me last-minute reminders and advice but Kelly walks by and he pauses long enough to smile and watch her walk away with her horses before turning back to me.

"And last thing- when you're shooting don't forget the wind."

Trick Shot always says this and after about a year of me reminding him there really was no wind in the big top and him responding with "I'm talking about more than just bows here, kid," I've given up trying to correct him and just take the advice.

It's to the point where I'm not sure I could shoot a bow without hearing that phrase first.

"Come on, kid," he says as Carson begins our introduction. "You nervous?"

"No." I lie.

"Well, damn, that's a shame. One of the best feelings in the world is that bunch of nerves you get right before going on. That blood rushing, heart pumping feeling. I love it. Why I do this job. But I guess with me out there with you it seems just like training to you. Maybe one day we can get Carson to let you perform on your own."

"Maybe when you retire, old man."

"HEY! I am _not_ an old man!" but Trick Shot is grinning at me and I'm beginning to understand what he was saying about the nerves being an awesome feeling as we walk into the ring to loud applause.

It's a small crowd and a slow day, but Trick Shot explained that was one of the best days to get started on.

Besides- with Trick Shot there, it's just like training.

We begin the usual stuff- we do a bit of target practice where we don't get anything other than bulls-eyes. Then Trick Shot shoots an apple I balance on my head. Then I shoot an apple balanced on Trick Shot's head while he shoots an apple balanced on mine and our arrows pass by each other in the air before knocking the apples off both our heads and into the ground with the arrow straight through.

We pick them up by the shaft and show the crowd while they applaud.

Then I climb up into the acrobat's ropes and start shooting from up there while Trick Shot shoots while balancing on one of the elephant's ball toys.

I hang upside down and keep shooting.

Trick Shot does a rapid shot while coming out of a cartwheel.

I need to remember to get him to teach me that. It's tricky without having your quiver empty out behind you due to gravity.

I come down long enough for Trick Shot to put a blind fold on me. I climb back up into the ropes and hear the crowd oohing as Trick Shot moves a target into place. He tells the audience to clap when he puts it where they think is good.

I hear lots of clapping.

"OK! Now- I need quiet while we do this. Hawkeye can't see a thing in front of his nose right now. So I'm going to give him ONE HINT about where the target is. I'll clap once while standing right to the left of it.

GOT THAT, HAWK?"

"I gotcha, Trick Shot," I shout back. The crowd goes still. I can hear a few people shifting in their seats now and then. I can hear someone rifling through the bottom of their popcorn barrel. I can hear someone sneeze and a little baby starts to cry.

Suddenly I remember Arlie.

"Pay attention, Hawk, I'm only doing this once!" Trick Shot's voice brings me back to reality and I hear one sharp *clap* as he stands to the left of the target.

I do some math in my head quickly and then take aim while the vibrations of the clap still hang in the air.

I shoot.

There is silence.

Did I miss? I haven't missed at this in a year!

Then- thunderous applause. I take the blindfold off and see a perfect bulls-eye and Trick Shot is grinning at me like an idiot but I climb down and take a bow as the audience goes as wild as one this size can.

I'm just focusing on my breathing.


	5. Arlie's Bruises

**SO are you super excited for Arlie's perspective now?! I hope so because I'm getting quite sad writing Clint's. Barney just makes me mad! Ugh. But this is a bit sad too. Actually- let's face it, until they find each other again it's just going to be all sad to me.**

**But yay me- posting every day! So much better than I expected of myself, but I'm really into this story and very motivated/inspired.**

**I think the reason I'm so into this is because I have a younger brother who I am very close with. I can't imagine not knowing where he is or what he is doing for a week let alone YEARS. And, as an older sibling, I would like to say that, in my experience, yes, being an older sibling is a choice. Clint's little decision moment of taking care of Arlie is actually based off a memory I have of doing the same thing with my brother at about that age. I only vaguely remember the day my brother was born. I clearly remember the day I decided he was mine to take care of.**

**Also- I'm planning on writing more interludes- if there is something you'd want to see in more detail that I've glossed over in the story or simply not mentioned, just tell me and I'll see if I can do it.**

* * *

**April 1994 (Arlie)**

The Jensens were nice enough, and they were willing to let me do my own thing. I preferred them to some of the other families I've stayed with. The Jensens don't give me bruises.

Mrs. Jensen had been talking to me since I arrived about the school dance that was happening this week and if I wanted to go. I told her no, but didn't bother to tell her it was since I didn't want to spend what little money I had on the cheapest dress in the world (because that was all I could afford). I was saving up for something good.

Mr. Jensen owns a technology store and I ask him if I can help him out after school. He's over the moon and agrees (I think he just wants free labor, since because I'm only 13 he doesn't pay me except a few twenties under the table here and there).

I like the store. Mr. Jenson spends a lot of time talking to the customers about technology and while he's at it he teaches me about it as well. He's got a computer that he lets me fiddle with and I've managed to figure out a way to get it running faster with less heat build-up.

While the rest of the kids are at the school dance I'm at the Jenson's. I'm a bit at odds with what to do so I decide to study. I can remember Clint telling me how smart I am, so I decide to prove him right.

I'm not quite sure what's happening with Clint or Barney.

But it's a year before Barney turns eighteen and I'm positive that he'll find me and Clint and we'll all get to be together again. I realize that we won't be rich or have much at all, but we'd have each other.

It's a lot more than I have now.

So I try to be the model Foster child in hopes that when Barney comes it'll show I'm responsible and they'll be willing to let me leave with my brothers with very little fuss.

* * *

**February 16th, 1995**

I'm not living with the Jensons anymore. Now I live with the Clarks. Mr. Clark sometimes gets a bit drunk and has hit Mrs. Clark a few times. I get out of the way fast so I don't get hit, too.

Barney's birthday is today. He's eighteen. I mentally send him birthday wishes and when no one is in the kitchen, I light a birthday candle for him and blow it out.

_I wish he comes with Clint soon._

* * *

**February 16th,1997**

He doesn't.

Barney should be twenty now.

_Maybe he had to get a job and stuff first. Any day now- Barney'll be here and so will Clint. Clint's almost eighteen now. That's two adults to take care of me. They'll let me leave easy._

The Bakers are nice enough. Mrs. Baker tries to bond with me but I spend a lot of my time working with the computer I've saved up and bought. I may or may not be learning to hack. The system separated me from my brothers: if I can hack into it, maybe I can find them again. I just need to learn how first.

* * *

**October 7th, 1999**

They still aren't there.

I'm eighteen. Mrs. O'Malley (my current foster mother) has helped me with college applications so I manage to get a work study at a small tech school. I'm still good with computers so I decide to major in Computer Science. I don't go to prom because I don't have money for a dress, even though a couple boys asked me. I was awkward when I told them I'd rather not.

* * *

**January 9th, 2000**

"Based on your current academics," my adviser tells me at my appointment, "you could be graduating early. As much as two semesters early. I must say, Ms. Barton, I'm very impressed. You're a great compliment to our school."

I'm coming up on nineteen and on a track to graduate from school early. I have no idea where my brothers are.

_I'll look for them- maybe they couldn't find me. I can find them._

I'm really good with hacking now and I've used it to get what I need to find my brothers.

* * *

**October 7th, 2001**

I'm twenty and I can't find them.

_What do I do what do I do what do I do where are they what happened did they die too?_

Maybe it's time to stop looking.

The last thing I can find of my brothers if from when I was eight. There are no records of them for almost twelve years. I've hit nothing but dead ends.

What happened to my brothers?

I need to let this go. I don't think it's healthy to obsess like this. I look around my place. It's not much besides school work and computer equipment. Maybe it's time to move on.

No. I'll limit myself. I'll allow myself to look every year on their birthdays. Otherwise- I have to make my own life.

* * *

**March 30th, 2002**

I'm in a bar with some girl friends from school celebrating one's twenty first birthday. Not all of us are legal but the bartender doesn't seem to really care about that. They're teasing me lightly about how close I am to graduating- an entire semester early since I eased up on myself a bit but still kept ahead. They think I need to loosen up a little bit more. Then a guy next to me starts to flirt and, loosened up by alcohol and my friend's encouragements, I flirt back.

He gets my phone number that night and a kiss a week later on a first date.

His name is Richard, Rich for short, and he's not perfect, but neither am I. When I tell him about my family he looks at me and says, "Well, you're stuck with me."

I think I may have fallen in love with him right there.

* * *

**October 7th, 2002**

Rich takes me out for my birthday to an expensive restaurant but we leave early because the waiter was coming on to me. I wasn't that uncomfortable, but Rich was upset so we went to a little dinner by my apartment instead. It was a little strained, but one of the best birthdays I can remember.

* * *

**April 18th, 2003**

Rich is talking about moving in together. I like the idea, but I'm hesitant. Rich gets upset when I put him off saying I want to think about it. We argue back and forth for a week and Rich hits me.

He's instantly apologizing and practically sobbing in guilt and so I forgive him.

He's not perfect, but neither am I. And, I point out, it's not like he meant it.

We move into a new apartment together a week later and everything's fine.

* * *

**October 15th, 2003**

I'm twenty one and I have a boyfriend who hits me one too many times.

When Rich gives me a black eye that I struggle to cover with make up I have a sudden realization in the mirror.

No, he's not perfect. No, neither am I. But I am better than _this_.

I'm suddenly wallowing in shame. I've let him do this to me for too long. I'm one of those statistics now. God- why don't I just get myself pregnant and complete the image?

I'm drowning in self-loathing for letting someone do this to me.

_I wish Clint were here, he'd fix it._

But even that thought comes with more shame: I shouldn't be looking for Clint to fix it. I should be able to fix my problems myself. I am a grown woman who graduated top of her class, has a successful job with good chances at a later promotion, and I'm waiting for my brother to fix all my problems. I should fix this myself.

I can't.

I call a hotline but hang up after a few minutes.

It's just too shameful.

I stay with Rich, thinking in the far corners of my mind that I deserve this because _I let it happen._

I made myself into this, now I would have to accept the results.

* * *

**April 5th, 2004**

I'm twenty two and I am absolutely positive Clint and Barney wouldn't let someone do this to me, and I cry as I allow myself to search for my brothers on my computer while lying on the bathroom floor.

I've got a nasty cut on my arm from when Rich through a glass at me and it shattered.

I'm glad it's not my face: it'd be hard to explain that to work.

I pause and look at myself.

God, I am pathetic.

I limit myself to searching of my brothers like it's some sort of addiction that I'm weaning myself off of.

What's so wrong with wanting my family back?

I let my boyfriend hit me and walk all over me while I hide the bruises and scars from my coworkers. I don't have any friends really.

I open another browser and start reading up on the psychology of women who are abused.

I immediately land on the phrase, "Blame themselves."

I watch a few videos of people who campaign against it.

I listen to someone object to how we even phrase the statement of "so-and-so is a battered woman" so the focus is on the woman not on who battered her.

I start thinking.

_I am not a battered woman. Rich beats me. Rich hits me. Rich hurts me. I am not a battered woman. Rich is an abusive man._

I start making my resolve.

When did I start selling myself so low?

I open up a document and start typing all the things I've ever done well and all the accomplishments I've made. Next to it I make a list of every obstacle I've overcome.

By the end of it, I'm impressed.

So what makes Rich think I deserve to be beaten?

I make a resolve. I'm not waiting for my brothers to come back. I'm not waiting for Clint to fix this.

If Clint were here how would he fix this?

_He'd tell me to leave the son of a bitch._

That's not Clint fixing it- that's Clint kicking me in the rear to fix it myself.

I leave Rich that night.

He tries to land a punch on me and I knee him in the groin.

I report what's been happening to me to the police and get the number of a woman who is willing to talk to me free of charge and support me.

I talk to her on and off for about a month before I decide I'm ok and I'd rather focus on actually _being_ me rather than _talking_ about being me. I file a restraining order against Rich when he comes by my work and threatens me one day, and avoid him whenever possible.

The worst part of it was scrambling to find a new apartment (or that's what I tell myself). I wasn't going back to that old one, even if Rich wasn't there.

I think my brothers would be proud of me. Especially Clint.

* * *

**January 1st, 2005**

I haven't found my brothers. Not a trace. I think maybe I should stop looking. Cold turkey. No just on their birthdays or anything like that.

I'll spend my brother's birthdays thinking of them and hoping they're ok, but I'm not going to keep looking.

It's been three years of searching and almost seventeen years since I'd last seen them.

Time to focus on something else.

My New Year's Resolution.

* * *

**May 4th, 2005**

_Just focus focus on work focus focus on what you can control what you can find._

_What can't leave you._

I'm twenty three and Clint knocks on my apartment door.


	6. Maybe-Conviction

**So we've had a bit from Arlie, and compared to Clint's her life isn't nearly as interesting a story. But! Now we go back in time to see Clint and Phil meeting and what exactly Clint's been up to at SHIELD. He has some issues to deal with before he and Arlie can reunite.**

**But look at me! ****Two**** updates in ****one**** day! I'm celebrating because this story is really flowing well and also I'll be going home for a short break from school/finals soon to go to my cousin's wedding! Super excited even if I will have to dress up (I much prefer sweatpants and a tee shirt to a dress).**

**Again, any requests for interludes and such- just review or PM me. Also- just review in general. I'd like to know what you guys are thinking. Thank you to those who have reviewed!**

**And here we go!**

* * *

**October 7th, 2000 (Clint)**

Arlie would be nineteen today.

And I had, in one of the world's cruel ironies, killed nineteen more people since I had left Barney.

The last one was yesterday.

Some people were close on my tail. I'm not quite sure who they are, but they have a tendency to wear black suits so I'm not going anywhere near them.

_It would appear,_ I thought as I walked down an alley, _that they won't do me the same courtesy._

There was a man in a black suit standing at the end of the alley. He was standing still, but his body language was relaxed and open.

_Shit_.

"Mr. Hawkeye?" said the man in an even tone. "I'd like to talk to you about SHIELD."

_Double shit_.

* * *

**October 8th, 2000**

I was covered head to toe in bruises. Yeah, I wasn't the best at hand-to-hand fighting, but this man in a black suit just handed me my ass on a silver platter.

With some side dishes.

"I'd like to talk to you about conviction." I was pretty sure the man must have at least a cracked rib from our fight, but he was talking as if he were commenting on the weather.

"What?" was the only reply I could come up with.

"Conviction. I think it's important. I think that conviction is what makes someone win. Someone more than win- prevail. I think conviction makes good men great," he paused and looked down at me where I lay on the ground of the alley. "You could be a great man."

I laughed. It was a painful, ugly sound with a lot of bitterness in it. "I'm not even a good one. I will never be a good one- it's too damn late."

"And that is precisely what lets me know you've got what it takes. I can offer you something, Hawkeye."

"What?" I sneered, looking at the sky. It was the smallest of hours in the morning- barely 1 am.

"Conviction."

I stop and suddenly I _listen_. I think.

I think about my father- the callouses on his hands, the way he would pick me up and toss me in the air, they way he used to let me try and help him fix stuff around the house.

I think about my mother- her smile when I would bring her a drawing, her voice when she would wish me goodnight, the smell of her perfume when she'd hug me.

I think about Barney- teaching me how to play baseball, yelling at me at Carson's, using me afterwards.

I think about Arlie- whose nineteenth birthday was just a few hours ago. Who loved and trusted me more than anyone ever had. Who was mine to take care of. Who I had failed.

"I can help you redeem yourself, Hawkeye." The man said again.

Maybe Arlie wouldn't have to be lost to me.

Maybe…conviction.

"I'm in," I told the man.

"My name is Agent Phil Coulson," he says, offering me a hand up, "and welcome to SHIELD, Trainee…?"

"Barton. Clint Barton."

* * *

**November 8th, 2000 (Phil)**

Clint Barton joined SHIELD one month ago. I've never seen anyone work so hard in my life- and I've worked with Maria Hill.

It'd be damn impressive if I wasn't so concerned about my Trainee killing himself.

Barton's sitting on the edge of the sparring mat after having gone head to head with three other trainees. One to three. Only with Barton would I call that even odds. The man is terrifying. He's got a bloody nose that he's trying to stop bleeding and some major bruises up and down his entire body. I think he might have broken his knuckles.

Time to intervene.

"So what exactly are you killing yourself over, Barton?" I say as I sit next to him He looks at me like I've missed the most basic and obvious of answers. I don't comment, instead waiting him out.

"You know what I've done- I've given you guys details. Hell, you _made_ my file. What exactly should I be doing? Frolicking?"

"No- but self-destructing isn't going to get you anywhere," Barton was about to protest but I cut in, "Listen, Clint. You've done bad things. Everyone has and, yes, before you interrupt I realize that the bad things you've done pale in comparison to the bad things the average man has to feel guilty about. But if you kill yourself with all this then you won't get the chance to make up for any of that."

Barton was silent and a bit sullen. I decided I wasn't going to get any farther with him today, "Just think about that." I stand and retreat to go argue with Director Fury again. He's not quite certain that Barton belongs at SHIELD- and, in many respects, he's right. Barton is talented. Scarily skilled at his job. But he's not a team player by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn't trust anyone and no one seems to trust him, either.

Well, with the exception of me.

Fury'll love that.

* * *

**December 24th, 2000**

"Do you celebrate Christmas?" I ask my Agent. And he is an Agent now. He broke all records for moving from Trainee to Agent and I'm positive his first mission will be coming in any day now.

He's also one of the youngest agents in SHIELD history. He's barely legal to drink and yet he's authorized to kill and fight and die for SHIELD.

Then again, I'm fairly sure Barton hasn't acted his age in a long time.

"No," I finally get an answer from Barton. And, sad as it is, it was the one I was expecting. I've known this man for over three months now and I've rarely ever met anyone with more conviction.

I've also never met anyone who hated themselves this much.

But I've got great hope- great conviction- in him. Clint Barton will be the greatest thing I've ever done- I'm sure of it.

Now I just need to convince my Agent of that.

"Not Christian or not religious?"

"Not celebratory."

"Ah. Why not?"

I'm on the receiving end of one of Clint's looks. I've started calling this the four-year-old look. It's the look he gives someone when he thinks they're asking a question a four year old could answer (I've gotten it more than a few times). Not to be confused with the five-year-old look, which is the look he gets when he's about to practice with his bow and knives- because then he starts _acting_ like a five year old.

I'm all for being prepared, but some of the ways he shoots a bow just shouldn't be possible according to physics and I'm not quite sure if he'll ever actually use them in a real-world situation. When, for instance, will you ever need to shoot a bow after cartwheeling?

"How exactly do you celebrate all on your own?"

"Same way I do every other year, I guess," I tell him, "By remembering and honoring."

Clint actually _stops_ and seems to consider my words.

"I try to do that every day," he whispers.

"Your victims," I tell him, "Deserve honor. But you are not the only one guilty of their deaths. Some would argue that you had no choice in what you did. I'm not going to say that," I held up a hand as he opened his mouth to object, "But I think that if you didn't take those contracts then someone else would have and they would still be dead. I'm not saying you're innocent, but you're less guilty than you think. So honor them, by all means, but don't do it by degrading yourself. Give yourself some credit: you're trying to even the balance and pay the debt."

Clint suddenly gets this faraway look and whispers, "Some debts can't be paid."

I have the sudden feeling we aren't talking about his victims anymore, and I don't know who it is that puts that look in my Agent's eyes, but I hate to think what he accuses himself of doing to them.

Because it's apparently worse than all the rest.

"We'll spend Christmas together, then, and we'll do something to try," is what I settle on saying. Barton just gives me a stiff nod and he's farther away from here and now than I've ever seen this bow-wielding man of conviction.

I'm not quite sure what exactly it is that he believes in, but it's something bigger than SHIELD and greater than hope.

I'd like to see it someday.

* * *

**October 9th, 2001**

My Agent is standing in front of me and rocking back and forth on his heels. He's got another one of his looks on. This one I simply call Shit. Because whenever that particular gleam gets into his eyes, I know shit is about to hit the fan.

"Agent Thompson has asked if he can borrow me during the new Trainee's practice session. I told him you probably wouldn't mind."

"And when is this session?"

"In five minutes."

I sigh. "Go, I'll be right behind after I alert medical."

In truth, I'm glad to have Clint causing havoc again. He was quiet the past few days and I wasn't quite sure what was going on in the man's head. It was an anniversary of something, I was positive. Of what, though, I couldn't say, and I didn't pry.

An hour later there were fifteen terrified new recruits and ten of them had to be sent to medical after sparring with Clint. Thompson, an Agent just as mischievous as Barton, was positively gleeful, and Clint looked like he had mellowed enough to just flop next to me on the bench.

"That was fun," he said, his grin slightly marred by blood on his teeth- one Trainee had gotten a lucky shot at his face, just enough to make the inside of his cheek bleed, but not enough for Barton to notice.

"Always good to see you enjoy yourself," I reply and decide to carefully pry my Agent open. I knew the facts of Clint's life- but I didn't know much beyond that. Time to work on that.

"You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah."

"Everything alright?"

"I guess. Just-" he pauses, as if realizing he was about to reveal something. I wait and hold my breath. This could be it.

"I told you I used to work with my brother Barney, yeah?" I don't think that's what was really bothering him the last few days- he has a different look when he thinks of his brother. One that's equal parts torment, anger, and guilt. But I'm all for him getting anything, _anything_, of his past off his chest, so I go with it.

"Yes- your older brother by about a year."

"Well, what I didn't tell you is what he did to me." I'm suddenly very still, trying to not break the moment, to let my Agent let go some of the burden he shoulders by himself. Also, there is a small amount of fear. I'm fairly certain that Clint's childhood was not a safe or secure one. The possibilities of what this older brother could've done are endless and horrifying.

"We ran away to the circus and joined up. One day, I was messing around with some of the performers and we realized I wasn't that bad with a bow," knowing Barton, this probably meant that he had been amazing rather than "not bad," but I let him continue at his own pace, "I started training to join in the act- me and Trick Shot- that was my teacher- we were going to do a bunch of tricks and capitalize on how young I was for more publicity for Carson's. That's how I got the name- Hawkeye, Kid Wonder Shot.

"I didn't realize, I was so wrapped up in myself, but Barney was really upset with it. He was a little jealous, but he was also angry that I was," he sighed stormily, "I guess I was leaving him behind. I never tried to repay him for getting me out of there and helping me get somewhere safe, but" I struggle to keep listening- because now I _know_. That orphanage was not a safe place for Clint and it wasn't because of his older brother. It was because of whoever was in charge of the damn place. I see red but bring myself back to the present- Clint's still talking and this may be the most I've ever heard him say in one sitting. "We argued and he told me I shouldn't have betrayed Swordsman like that. But he was stealing! And I was just so sure it was wrong and that he should stop I didn't even consider how much I owed the guy. And Barney was right- I didn't care about what would happen to Swordsman when I stopped him, I just cared about myself." I made a mental note to correct this assumption once Clint was done his story and let my Agent continue, "So Barney left. A couple years later, when Carson's went out of business, I went looking for him. I found him and started working with him. He was doing some security for this guy- you know his name, I told you when I joined up- but I thought it was kinda shady. I just wanted to stick with Barney though, so I did whatever Barney told me to do. I didn't want him to leave again and I just- I was blindly following him. I knew he was lying, in the back of my mind I knew it, but I just didn't want to believe it. I mean-" Clint was getting impassioned, standing up and pacing, I let him vent, "He was my BROTHER! More than that, he was my BIG brother- big brothers are supposed to take care of you and never leave you and keep you safe and protect you and fix things." He slumped down next to me and put his head in his hands. His next words were muffled and tense.

"They aren't supposed to lead you into becoming a murderer."


	7. Keeping Track

**So we're continuing on with Clint at SHIELD, and more stuff from Phil's perspective. I actually quite like writing Phil's POV, but when we get to the movie events I'm planning on pretty much doing solely Arlie's perspective with a few paragraphs here and there from the Avengers and maybe even Fury (that would be a difficult one to write).**

**Anyways- this is examining the relationship that Clint and Phil have built up over the years- it's kind of a strange combination of brother, father, and best friend/straight man for Phil. In short: delightful.**

**Please review!**

* * *

**January 24th, 2002 (Phil)**

I have decided that there is no one I hate more in this world than Barney Barton. Which is strange, because there is no one in this world I care more for than his brother.

But, from the way I see it, Barney Barton has done irreparable damage to Clint and for that I cannot forgive him, nor do I want to. I've just spent the last half an hour carefully trying to convince Clint without pushing to go visit his parent's graves. I tried over Christmas, in honor of the season, but Clint told me he'd rather focus on the living then chasing ghosts, so we spent Christmas at the base with a pizza ("It's brick oven, Phil, you can't just eat any old pizza. _Especially_ on Christmas! Look- we can get Figgie pudding or something as a topping if you're worried about being untraditional. Well, we can get it on your half- I'm getting pure meat lover's pizza for my half. But up to you.") and some beer.

It might have been one of the best Christmases Clint or I've had.

My Agent's come a long way, and while I know he still has nightmares ("I don't know what you're talking about, Phil. I'm fine.") and he's pretty haunted by those ghosts he likes to avoid chasing, he no longer flirts with death like he'd be glad if it took him.

Considering he's one of SHIELD's top agents and Fury has a mission for him every other week, that's a huge improvement in my book.

But Barney Barton, while having his part of Clint's tale told, is still a silent presence in Clint's life. One that seems to constantly criticize and mock him. Enough so that Clint's afraid to show his face to his parent's graves ("I just don't think they'd need to see me there. Besides, Phil, they're dead- if I was dead I wouldn't hang out by my grave- I'd haunt somewhere fun. Like the shooting range.")

Today Clint walked up to me and handed me a file.

"Could you keep track for me?" he asks as he hands it to me. I open it to find a list. Not just any list, but a list of what Clint considers to be good deeds he's done.

"I know you can't just expect a good thing to make up for a bad thing you've done, but I'd like to keep track anyways," he explains to me when I look up at him. I take a glance at the file again. I see a few things from missions:

"Evacuated 24 children from slave ring

"Stopped hit man from taking out his target: a women's rights activist in Saudi Arabia"

And some other things that I had no idea had happened:

"Stopped woman from being mugged in alley off of 5th

"Convinced lady at market to leave her abusive boyfriend- told her if she needed help to call hotline, gave her the number. Told her she deserved better.

"Got little girl's doll back from a boy who was teasing her at the park."

"Clint-" I begin, not remotely sure what to say. He's keeping track of good and bad deeds (I know he has a list of what he considers his crimes squirreled away somewhere- because the file SHIELD has contains all the people he's taken out, yes, but not all the things only _he_ considers himself guilty of: like Barney) like he's tallying up points in a game but at the same time it's just so _Clint_ to do this. He keeps track of everything- the number of arrow's he's broken during shooting practice, positions he can shoot from, number of successful missions (he hasn't had any unsuccessful missions yet, he's too much of a perfectionist), number of Trainee's he's sent to medical while sparring, the exact price of every meal I've ever bought for him verses the price of every meal he's ever bought for me, and that's just what I know of. But this list of good deeds, it's filled with the essence of Clint- someone who's got a weakness for ordinary, everyday people, kids and women, someone who defends the innocent (and Clint considers practically everyone innocent compared to himself), and someone who can do good while having a conversation with a women at an outdoor market.

"This is amazing," is what I finally settle on, "And I'll gladly keep track for you."

"Thanks, Phil," is all he says. And then I realize what he's really doing here. He's keeping track of all his failures because he trusts himself to notice every single one- I get to watch over his triumphs, because he trusts me to look after his good side. His humanity is in my care.

I don't think I've ever been so honored to receive a file in my life.

* * *

**April 2002**

I always knew Clint was smart, though he hadn't had much by way of formal education, so when he has to go undercover as a student at a university, I'm not concerned. When, half way through the mission, he starts talking about his physics class and his mechanical engineering seminar, I have a realization. Clint loves learning.

Which, really, shouldn't take me by surprise. Within the first month of working for SHIELD, Clint had managed to learn everything about the agency he could with his security level (and I'm pretty sure some information above his level). The only person who might know this agency's inner workings better might be Fury himself. Or Agent Hill. He knows short cuts and loopholes around policies, every hallway and the inside of every air duct in the base, has practically memorized the plans for the Helicarrier that're in the very beginning stages of planning. Clint starts on a subject and by the end of the week he's usually an expert.

Add on top of that a natural ability to do math due to accurately firing arrows while taking into account wind and a thousand other factors, and he's genius level intellect. I'm not sure why it took me so long to think that maybe we should encourage this.

I tell Fury I think it might keep him out of trouble and the Director is all for it.

So when he completes this mission he comes back to base to find textbooks and various labs open to him and most of the Doctors (of medicine and every other field imaginable) in SHIELD employ willing to teach him anything he wants to know and suddenly Barton is talking to me during meals about microscopic surgery, how exactly touch screens work, and every other thing under the sun.

I'd feel stupid if I wasn't so damn proud.

* * *

**October 7th, 2002**

"I think I can do it," he tells me one day. Five minutes ago he was discussing the culture of an indigenous people of the Rainforest (or something similar- I was focusing on filling out some paperwork and Clint has a tendency now of just talking to me even when he knows I'm not listening).

"Do what?" I ask, having finished the various forms and now devoting my attention to my Agent.

"See their graves." He tells me. I don't know what brought this on, but I do know that Fury had recently given Clint some vacation time (by force- it's SHIELD policy that all agents have to have a certain amount of time off every year along with psych and medical evals every six months) so perhaps it's just opportunity.

I doubt it, but Clint will never be fully understood by me.

"Would you like me to come?"

"You don't have to, if you want to you can join, but it'll be pretty boring. Iowa is pretty dead as far as tourist attractions go." That was Clint-speak for _yes, please come._

"Well I do have a goal to go to every state in the country, and I haven't crossed Iowa off yet. I'll pack a bag."

Neither of us mentions that I was in Iowa a couple of months ago on SHIELD business.

* * *

**October 15th, 2002**

I leave Clint before his parents' graves and step back to the entrance of the cemetery, making sure I'm within view for my Agent (_severe abandonment issues_, the psych eval had said when he first joined up) but not invading. I see Clint kneel down before them and he stands back up a few minutes later, putting his sunglasses back on. We leave the cemetery without a word and three days later are back in New York.

* * *

**December 25th, 2002**

"So what did Santa get you, Phil?" my Agent teases me as we lounge around SHIELD with a box of meat lover's pizza and some beers. This has very easily become a tradition. I grab the gift that was sloppily (for someone who is pretty much a genius, Clint's never been very good at wrapping presents- or maybe he's just lazy) wrapped for me and start tearing it open. It's a frame for pictures but, rather than having a photo in it, it's got the 6th vintage Captain America trading card pressed by the glass onto a sheet of plain white paper that says "Guess this guy had a lot of conviction- good on him. Merry Christmas, Phil. Clint"

"So- you like it?"

"You know I do- I love it, thanks, Clint."

"Yeah, well, it was a bitch to find. Eventually I found it in this hole-in-the-wall pawn shop thing in Cairo."

"You found this in _Cairo_?"

"Yeah- it was annoying. After scouring the internet for weeks trying to find a card I find it while hiding behind some vases in a dinky shop in Cairo while on a mission. The universe likes to laugh at me."

"You just make it easy. Now open your gift."

"New quiver?"

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know, that's why I do it."

* * *

**April 5th, 2003**

"So how's it feel to be twenty four, Hawkeye?"

"Wet, cold, and windy, that's how. Damn it." I smirk as I hear Clint cursing over the comms. He's on a mission, stuck on top of a building in a storm, on his birthday, and it's hysterical.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asks me.

"Consider it payback for the entire week you made fun of me for having a cold."

"Dude- that was not a cold- that was some ancient disease that dinosaurs got. Only explanation for projectile snot like that."

"It was a cold, Hawkeye."

"If that makes you feel better." I can just see the smirk on his face now and I roll my eyes. Sometimes that's really the only thing to do when dealing with Barton.

"So do you see your target?"

"No- but then again, I can barely see my hand in front of my face in this damn storm. Is this some sort of hazing thing?"

"No- but maybe-"

"Wait-" Clint cuts me off, I can hear from how his voice is suddenly serious that he's fully focused on work now, no more snark for now. "I've got a sighting. Going to confirm."

"Understood."

"Confirmed, it's our target. Shall I take him out?"

"If you've got sight and the ability, go Hawkeye."

There is silence for a few moments while I wonder why I'm not even worried about Clint's ability to shoot accurately in this weather when his voice comes back over the comm and I remember.

"Target down. Shall confirm death and then head back to base. Then I'm going to kill you for making me go out in this weather. It's practically biblical out here."

"Understood, Hawkeye, report back when you're on your way."

"Gotcha."

* * *

**August 16th, 2003**

"Why are we this close to the equator in _August_?"

"Feeling a little warm, Hawkeye?"

"Feeling a little burnt, actually."

"I told you to put on sunscreen."

"Oh, shut up, Mom."

* * *

**February 4th, 2004**

"So when are you going to ask out that chick from Resources?"

"Clint- if I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

"Valentine's Day is coming up- she likes you. Asks about you every time I see her."

"Why are you down in Resources?"

"No- I see her in the cafeteria. She likes oatmeal with fruit for breakfast, by the way."

"Do you want me to start talking about your love life?"

"Go ahead- I wanna see what you can come up with."

"Go away, Clint. I've got paperwork to do."

"I can ask her out for you. Pass her a note that says "Wwould you date Phil Coulson? Check yes or no.""

"Clint. Out."

"Gee, you'd think this was your office or something."

"It _is_ my office."

"Ok ok ok. I'll leave you to your paperwork- but that won't keep you warm at night."

"No- but my increasing level of anger at you might."

"I'll go talk to Sarah, then. Have fun with the paperwork."

The door shuts. "I'm going prematurely grey," I mutter to myself as I reach for the bottle of Ibuprofen.

* * *

**November 23rd, 2004**

"So how was the date with Sarah?"

"Shut up."


	8. Anything That Won't Get You Killed

**OK- this is because I won't be able to update tomorrow since I'll be on my way home for my cousin's wedding (yay!) for six hours on a Megabus (very much **_**not**_** yay!). Regardless- I've been very cruel, keeping you all from seeing Arlie and Clint reunited (it was only partially intentional) and I am telling you SOON. Like, next chapter soon! Once I've got it all finished and edited. So...Saturday (hopefully) will be the next update. Friday if I somehow managedto be really impressive (doubtful) and write it all while doing wedding things.**

**Please please please review. Like seriously, it makes my day. I'm begging for feedback here. I'd be on my knees if you could somehow see it and appreciate it. But you can't, so I'm in my seat and begging.**

**Thank you to those who have reviewed- you are all gems. And not cheap ones- you're those rare black diamonds that are worth thousands. Or maybe the Hope Diamond.**

* * *

**April 7th, 2005 (Phil)**

"I want your help," said Clint out of the blue one day while we were sparring. He said it in a rush, as if taking too long to say it would mean the sentence would never get out. I knew it was a lot for him to ask for help- Clint didn't like depending on anyone. Which means, since he _is_ asking, this would be something _big_. I had to think carefully on what to say and eventually settled on:

"Anything that won't get you killed. And I reserve the right to argue with you a bit."

Clint almost smirked, but seemed too nervous to. I managed to get a hit to his chest while Clint was pondering how to phrase his request.

"I want to find someone." My mind immediately raced through several possibilities: an old client, the family of an old mark that he wanted to apologize to, his brother (_please, god, not his brother_).

"Who?"

"My little sister." Clint got three solid punches and a kick in while I actually gaped at him in shock.

"You don't have a sister."

"Yes, I do. I just don't want anyone coming after her so I don't let anyone know."

"But the records-"

"It's amazing how crappy security is on the records of orphans. It kept her safe. Barton's a common enough last name."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I took a breath, two, traded a few more blows with my Agent and then said, "Ok- well, how old would she be now?"

Clint seemed to sigh with pure relief, "You think this is a good idea? Finding her? I mean- I haven't seen her since she was seven years old and I don't know-"

I couldn't let him go down the slippery slope of self-recrimination again. He'd gotten a lot better with his demons since he'd come to SHIELD, but he still struggled with them daily. I hoped this sister of his would hear him out and not judge him for all he's done. If I know my Agent, and I do, he'll probably tell her everything short of SHIELD's own secrets. "Barton, it's your sister and she deserves to see you. Not to mention how much _you_deserve to see _her_. Now- age, hair and eye color, date of birth, and name."

"23 years, brunette and blue, October 7th, 1981, Arlie Clara Barton."

"Let's find her then." I wasn't sure, but I was almost certain that in Clint's eyes, this is the greatest thing I could ever do for him.

I was proud to.

* * *

**April 8th, 2005**

I did not waste time in starting on my search for Barton's sister. But, damn, was the kid making it difficult.

He was absolutely paranoid about her safety so we couldn't research her with anything SHIELD owned or could track. We had ended up in a computer lab on a University campus just to get Clint to calm down.

He was still pacing.

Damn- I don't think I'm going to be able to do this with him in the room.

"Barton, go get me some coffee and a doughnut- we're settling in."

"Sure, Phil."

I began typing into the computer. First, a basic Google search. Arlie Clara Barton. I found a few articles done featuring her when she was younger- explaining how she was up for adoption.

They didn't mention her brothers, but I thought, based how the quotes from the girl were edited, that she certainly wasn't silent about them.

I quickly decided _not_ to show those particular articles to Clint.

I went on a couple Social Media pages and found her, but she had her stuff under some tight personal security. Not much on the pages except that she works for a computer company and she graduated from a tech school.

To the tech school's page then.

Clint was back with the coffee.

"What's that?"

"Where your sister went to school."

"She went to college? I always told her she was smart! What'd she major in?" Barton seemed desperate for any news of his sister. I thought, for a moment, that he was going to simply pull her out of thin air, he seemed to want her before him so badly.

"Well, I'm guessing something to do with computers since that's what she works with now."

"She's graduated?"

"And out in the work force."

"God she sounds so…" his eyes seemed to go far away as he sighed the word, "normal." I paused in my research for a moment, carefully examining my agent. He seemed simultaneously heartbroken and in awe.

"Do you think," he began again, still looking somewhere I couldn't follow. "That this is a good idea? I mean, she's got a life all of her own. She's got work and normal stuff. Should I drag her into all this," he gestured around for a moment, "Craziness?"

"First off, you're not dragging her into it- in fact, you're doing everything short of removing all traces of her existence to keep her out of it. Second, you are looking for your sister. I'm pretty sure she's genetically guaranteed to _not_ be normal. There's no way all of that crazy in you isn't hereditary. Finally, she has a right to know what happened to you. You were two kids who got split up and whom circumstances contrived to keep apart. Were you close before?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think so."

"Well, then, if she's your sister, she'll be wanting to know what happened. I wouldn't be surprised if she had gone looking for you too."

Clint actually smiled, "She always was stubborn. She's a firecracker."

"Now look at this- she graduated top of her class. See the article?"

"Really? Lemme sit down," Barton practically shoved me out of the chair as he sat to read about his sister's achievement. There was even a photo in the article of her. He was breathless and clearly reverent as he asked me, "Can we print this out?"

"Sure, and you can hide it in that secret stash you've got that no one in SHIELD knows about or could ever find."

"How do you know about it?"

"I didn't, I just guessed."

"Oh."

"Now go pick it up from the printer while I keep working."

"Ok. Phil?"

"Yeah, Barton?"

"Thanks."

* * *

**April 25th, 2005**

"Here it is." I say as I plunk a folder down in front of my agent. We're in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that Clint insists has the best pulled pork I'll ever taste. I believe him- if I know anything about Clint, it's that he _knows_food.

Clint picks up the folder almost reverently. He takes a deep breath before opening it.

"Your sister works in a computer design company and does coding for them. Mostly- there're some notes about her helping out other divisions. She bounced around quite a bit in and out of different foster homes, some were clearly better than others- she graduated top of her class in Computer Science after going to the school with a near full ride. She worked in a local computer store to pay for anything not covered by financial aid and scholarships. She's clever. She had some trouble a year back- filed a restraining order against a guy, Richard Durnin, no incidents reported since then, though."

"Phil- thank you for finding all this."

"Yeah, yeah, now shut up and listen. I called in some favors to get this, and I found her address. She lives in an apartment complex not far from here. She's in New York, Clint. You can go see her."

"I can go see her?"

"Yes, you can. She's not far. The address is in the file. Along with her phone number. Whichever you want to try. Go for it."

"Do you think-" I cut him off.

"Yes, now stop doubting yourself and remember: this is your little sister."

"It's Arlie," I've never heard this level of awe in Clint's voice. And I suddenly desperately want to meet the girl who inspires that. I think she'll be good for him if she's even half as wonderful as Clint seems to think she is.

"Phil, you've done a thousand amazing things for me- but this- this beats them all," I'm surprised- there are actual tears in my Agent's eyes as he looks at the file with information on his sister. He seems to be examining a picture of her at her college graduation rather closely.

"Well, you deserve it. Shut up, don't argue with me- I say you deserve it, and you do. Now- what are you going to do?"

"I want to see her but-"

"You're worried she might not want to see you?"

"Yeah."

"There are some records of her looking for you- she hit a bit of a dead end in the records from when you joined Carson's. She did look for you."

"Yeah- but that was years ago. I mean- look at her- she doesn't really need me."

"Doesn't mean she doesn't want her big brother."

"You think?"

"Only one way to find out if I'm right."

"I think facing a terrorist cell without back up is easier than this."

"Probably. The worst a terrorist cell can do to you is physical damage."

"She's- I don't know. I need to think about this."

"Take some time- she's not going anywhere. You've got the address."

"Yeah. Thanks, Phil."

"My pleasure."


	9. Fixing Atlas

**Look it! I made another chapter! And it's THE chapter! You know- the one we've all be waiting for, that several of you have repeatedly asked for (I drew it out because isn't it so much better when you've let the anticipation build a bit?)! I wrote it on the SEVEN HOUR BUS RIDE I was trapped on yesterday. It was absurd- too much traffic made something that was already too long even LONGER. It took me a grand total of ten hours to get from school to home. It should not take that long. Ever.**

**Anyways- the chapter where Arlie and Clint reunite. You're probably just barely reading this Author's Note because you want to get to the good stuff. Or maybe you've skipped it entirely. You know what- new plan.**

* * *

**May 4th, 2005 (Arlie)**

"Arlie?" he asks and I look carefully at this man standing before me. Something in him stirs my memory and I try to match him. He could be any number of kids I'd been fostered with over the years come back to catch up but I just couldn't place him. Which was annoying me because I was fairly certain he was important. Him- with his sandy blonde hair and blue-grey eyes that I suddenly recognized with a flash of inspiration. It was embarrassing how long it took me- considering I saw those same eyes in the mirror every morning.

"Clint?" I breathed, my eyes widening. He gave me the most heartbreaking smile in the world. It was as if he wasn't sure I'd be happy to see him but was himself _so happy_ to see me. As if he was waiting for me to slam the door in his face and refuse to speak to him again but was just _breathing in_ this moment of reunion for as long as it might last. This was my _brother_. Clint was back and he looked like he was ashamed of himself and I couldn't let that stand so I threw myself at him and started (humiliatingly) to cry.

"Arlie- oh, Arlie- don't cry- c'mon, I can't let you cry," he said as he rubbed my back. Even after all these years he still hugged me the exact same way- one arm over my shoulder and another by my waist supporting my back and perfectly placed so if I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder my whole head and neck was cradled by his arm. He was holding me like I was still the baby Mom put in his arms and said was his sister.

"Where- how- I just-" I was speechless. And still crying. What do you say to your brother after he turns up on your doorstep after about twenty years? I wondered if he knew where Barney was, too. I had looked for both of them but couldn't find either of my brothers. I wondered what he had been doing for _almost twenty years_. And then suddenly I was angry and pulled myself back to punch him in the arm.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" I shrieked at him, except since I was still crying my voice cracked and wobbled all over the place. "I looked for you! I looked for _both_ of you as soon as I was out and I COULDN'T FIND YOU!"

He didn't move to hug me again, instead slumping down as if he was expecting punishment. I recalled, absurdly, at that moment the legend of Atlas, who had to hold the world on his shoulders. My brother suddenly looked like the perfect model for Atlas in all his despair. My heart cracked down the middle and I was crying fresh tears and trowing myself at my brother again, and desperately hoped this would be like when we were kids and he'd fix everything.

It's hard to remember my brothers sometimes- I was only five when our parents died, and most of my memories of my mother and father are hazy or stories Clint had told me while we were in the orphanage. My brothers I could remember slightly better but they were blurry, like a camera out of focus. What I _could_ remember was that Clint fixed everything- that was what he did. Barney I can remember teasing me and pulling my hair lightly, and then I can remember him being quiet and far-away after the crash. But Clint fixed everything. My pigtails, my scrapped knees, my barbie dolls when another kid managed to pull off their heads and scatter their clothes throughout the sandbox. Clint fixed it all. I wanted that back.

Clint was cradling me again and I hadn't felt this safe in years.

"I missed you, Arlie," he sounded choked up and I figured he must have had a good reason for not finding me with Barney the _moment_ Barney turned eighteen, so I pulled him into my apartment and collapsed on the couch with him and we were both crying.

I got the distinct impression that Clint's tears were of shame and sadness, rather than happiness and shock like mine. True, there was a bit of sadness in my tears: sadness of the years lost, the memories taken before they could be made. But Clint was still perfect for the role of Atlas and I was so disturbed by it I didn't know what to do.

"Clint- I just-" I was unable to go any further.

"Arlie- before you say anything," he shifted, playing with his hands in a way I don't remember him ever doing before. I examined this grown man who was my brother- he had grown a lot, obviously. He wasn't tall- didn't take after our dad that way, and while I don't think he shared any features with our mother (his nose was definitely dad's and so was his forehead) something about his face seemed to recall her to me. Or maybe it was that feeling- that feeling of total security and being absolutely loved. "I have to tell you some things. You might not want to see me-"

"Shut up! Of course I want to see you- you're my brother, Clint!"

"Yeah, but, Arlie, _listen_, I've done some things that you need to know about before you decided whether or not you really want to see me."

"Fine- tell me- but I can tell _you_ right now that unless you're going to confess to being an ax murderer for the fun of chopping up bodies, I won't want you to leave."

Clint smirked at my statement and looked at me with a single eyebrow raised. I threw my hair over my shoulder and crossed my arms before raising an eyebrow of my own.

I suddenly wondered how similar we might look in that moment.

"All I ask is that you don't interrupt and you listen to the very end before you decide. In fact, if you want a couple of days to decide after hearing all this, I won't blame you, it you want-"

"Shut up, Clint, just tell me."

"Ok. So- when I was about ten Barney and me decided to run away to the circus."

* * *

**May 5th, 2005**

Clint finished his story in the wee small hours of the morning and I sat in wide-eyed, shocked silence. What sort of response is appropriate for when your brother tells you that he and your oldest brother ran away from the orphanage and joined the circus, and he later was betrayed by said oldest brother, which sent him down a path where he became a terrifying assassin, killing anyone for the right pay before an Agent from a mysterious government organization came and picked him up out of the mud and got him to join the organization where he still kills people for a living but now it's not for the money but because these people are _bad_ (he was very focused on explaining to me that they were _very bad_ people and seemed about to give me examples before he decided it was all too dark for him to tell his baby sister) and he needed to redeem himself?

I doubt Hallmark makes a card for this.

I was desperate- I needed to say the right thing here. I _had_ to say the right thing here or my brother would vanish into the mist and I'd be alone without him again and I did_ not _want that. But I couldn't be silent forever either while I searched for the right words.

_What do I do?_

Clint still looked to me to be Atlas- the world on his shoulders and my heart was breaking. Barney betrayed Clint. Barney hurt Clint. Barney never came looking for me either. _No, that was a selfish thought_. Clint was hurt. Clint couldn't fix everything for me.

I needed to fix Clint.

He was always fixing my things, it was my turn to do it for him.

But how to start?

Clint looked like he was terrified and about to flee from the apartment so I did the only thing I could think of to keep him with me- _I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave_.

I threw myself at my brother again and hugged him as hard as I could in an attempt to physically convey the right words that I still hadn't found.

Clint was hesitant, careful, and unsure (_god that breaks my heart_) as he reached slowly to hug me back. To cradle me as he had always done.

Someone broke my brother to the point where he wasn't sure I'd still love him.

I was suddenly furious.

With Barney. With the orphanage my brother was sent to. With the circus. With this SHIELD organization, too- they kept my brother doing what he did not like.

I was murderous.

And then Clint began to cry. He hadn't cried once since the initial tears he shed over seeing me again with all his uncertainties and doubts. Now he cried and it was relief and joy and _oh thank god _all wrapped into each salty droplet.

I held my brother for what seemed like hours.

"I missed you _so much_," I finally said. "And I am _so sorry_."

He just squeezed me tighter. I waited a few heartbeats before speaking again.

"Come on- I'm hungry. What do you feel like eating? I've got the ingredients for practically anything. When's the last time you ate properly anyways? And I mean _properly_- with real food. Stuff with soul to it. Not some nutrient-enriched crap that has about as much soul as a store-bought cookie that they're probably serving you over at that agency."

"You cook?"

"Yeah, I cook. A couple years ago I was getting out of a bad spot and decided to take some cooking lessons. I'm not sure why- it was just a whim. Getting myself busy or something, I don't know."

"Hey- I get it. And you don't have to explain yourself to me. So- my baby sister cooking me food right now sounds great," he gave me a shit-eating grin, "I like food. So be warned- I will be very critical about it."

I snorted and tossed my hair over my shoulder again, "You doubt my skills?"

"I've been a lot of places and eaten a lot of food."

"Well, you've never had _my_ food so you haven't really _enjoyed_ food till now. You'll see- I'm gonna get started on some pasta."

"I've been to Italy."

"I've got skill."

"We'll see, Arlie. We'll see."

"You're going to eat your words, Clint."

"I think I'm going to be eating pasta, actually."

"With a side dish of I-shall-never-doubt-you-again."

My brother laughed. And got up to help me in the kitchen. He really was just standing around and getting in the way, but I could honestly say I didn't mind.

He was still a bit like Atlas, but I thought perhaps my brother was also a bit like Hercules- willing to go through seemingly impossible labors to redeem himself. He looks like he just completed the first one.

* * *

**So how did you like it? I figured I should put anything I really wanted you guys to read down here since (at least, if it were me, I would) you probably skipped over that beginning bit to get to the story. Anyways- will probably post again Saturday. We've now reached the point where I don't really have chapters pre-written any more, which means I'm going to be literally writing them and then immediately posting them so be aware. No chapter waiting in the wings while I write/edit another.**

**Thank you for all the favorites, follows, reviews (give me more, though, please), and just reading this in general. You're awesome.**

**Again- review please. And if you have a request for an interlude, just type it out in your review or PM me. Which ever. Thanks!**


	10. Look At You

**So what we've got here is a bit of Clint's perspective on being reunited with Arlie. It's a lot of just...cute. And also, we're getting some clues about what Clint's going to be like as a brother to Arlie now that they're both a bit more grown up and have finally found each other again. There's still some issues for the both of them (they had a pretty bad past- especially Clint, so it'd be weird if they didn't) but they've got each other now so hopefully they'll continue to heal. We'll see.**

**Please review and thanks for reading!**

* * *

**May 4th, 2005 (Clint)**

Is there a better person than my sister?

I don't think so.

She heard the whole story without a peep except for a gasp of shock and outrage when I told her about Barney, and then hugged me like she could fix everything that had gone wrong, even bring back our parents, if she just squeezed me tight enough.

_I do not deserve this_.

But I have it anyway and this is my _sister_. This is my _baby sister_. It's _Arlie_ and she's with me again and she still loves me even after everything I've told her and she wants me with her if the grip she's got on me is anything to go by.

And she told me she missed me and she's sorry.

_Oh, god, Arlie, I'm sorry- I should've found you before._

Before what I'm not actually sure, but if I had found her before...whatever, I'm sure we'd have been fine. It would have been better. And Arlie wouldn't have to feel sorry and she wouldn't have had to miss me for about fifteen years.

God- I'm a terrible brother.

But she still loves me and now she's insisting that she feed me and demanding to know when's the last time I ate and if SHIELD even feeds me proper food or if it's just "some nutrient-enriched crap that has about as much soul as a store-bought cookie." She doesn't even wait for me to answer and is suddenly cooking and still wiping away a few tears now and then.

God- I'm the luckiest son of a bitch ever.

When did she grow up?

I missed it. I missed it all.

I suddenly realize that I know nothing about my own sister. I mean, I know she's a spitfire, and stubborn as a mule, and smarter than she lets herself think, and terrible with people she doesn't know, and crazy to boot. I know she works at a computer company based on how Phil found her for me. I know she went to a college and graduated top of her class (again- thank you, Phil). But I have no idea if she played any sports and won any trophies, what her first school dance was like, if she even went to prom, if she's dating anyone (_and let's not buy a ticket on that particular train of thought_). I missed out on my sister growing up into this amazing girl who is currently shoving a plate of pasta in my hands and running her mouth a mile a minute as she lectures me on what kind of food I should be eating because "Don't just eat healthy crap- eat food with soul."

I look around the room. I'm trained for this: I can find out who my sister is now by looking.

There's some CDs by a very nice quality player that isn't hooked up to the radio at all and they're mostly stuff like Queen and a lot of Heart with some Zeppelin thrown in.

She always was a girl after my own heart.

There's some dishes in the drain board, but they're only enough for one person so she isn't living with anyone (_cue: breath of relief_) and her kitchen is practically bursting with food and ingredients. There's also a bar of dark chocolate on the counter in easy reach for a snack.

Dark chocolate- ok. Keep that in mind for birthdays, Christmas, and apologies.

She's got some rugs on the floor and the living room is really just a couch and one chair with perfect angle to watch the TV. More signs of living on her own.

_It's all clean though- and this from the girl who couldn't be bothered to brush her teeth before bed._

She has a desk shoved to one side, angled so she can look out of the window when she sits there. It's filled with technology that I can't identify and a laptop that's currently off.

She's a techie. Phil said she graduated top of her class. I always told her she was smart.

I decide to stop looking and just ask her. I take some pasta onto my fork and watch as she sits down next to me with her own plate before asking.

"What about you?" I wait quietly as she shifts a bit in her seat- I am very familiar with pasts you don't want to talk about and I know that my sister will tell me what she can in her own time. I'm patient, though- I can sit on a roof waiting for a target for untold hours. I can certainly wait for my sister to be comfortable enough to tell me all the years I missed.

"Well, I bounced around a lot with the foster homes," she begins and I eat my pasta and absorb every single one of her words- they are memories I missed, memories I lost, memories I have no right to but she's giving them to me anyway.

God- I'm the luckiest son of a bitch ever.

It's now about six in the morning and we've been talking nonstop since about six last night (I had wanted to catch her after work).

"Ok- I'll admit, that was probably the best pasta I've ever tasted. What was in that sauce?"

"Secret recipe that I'm not telling you so you're forced to come back here whenever you want to eat it. I'm crafty that way." She gives me a sunny smile and it's like being forgiven- more than that, freed.

"I can handle that."

"Now I want to know more about this Phil guy- he's the one who recruited you, you said?"

"Yeah- and did it by kicking my ass up and down an alley."

She smirked at me, "Clearly you're not as skilled as you think."

I scoff and hold a hand to my chest, playing at being offended, "I am _very_ skilled. I could take you one hand behind my back!"

"Well a midget with a limp could probably take me with one hand behind his back. I'm not that tough."

"You know to be careful though, right?" I'm suddenly worried- I know exactly what lurks in the shadows and I do _not_ want my sister defenseless towards it.

"I mean, I exercise common sense, yeah. Don't go into back alleys," she sends a pointed look towards me, "Wear your purse across your shoulder so it's not so easy to snatch, use the buddy system, and" she's teasing me now, "Of course, look both ways before you cross the street and don't go unless you're accompanied by an adult."

"You have pepper spray or anything?"

"I think I've got some somewhere."

"Arlie…" I sigh, "That's it- I'm buying you some of that industrial strength stuff that they use on bears and you're going to carry it with you- please?"

"Fine fine fine I promise, but I hope you realize you're paranoid."

"I'll take paranoid and you safe than lazy and you in danger."

"Well- what am I supposed to say to that, really? Now you've guilted me into doing it."

"If I thought I could get away with hiring a body guard I'd do it."

"I have no doubt. But the only thing I've got worth stealing is my secret sauce recipe, Clint."

"Still- I don't want to sound sexist or anything, but it's pretty dangerous for girls out there. Especially ones who don't know how to defend themselves."

"I figure just go for the place that hurts- can't go wrong with that."

"No- good policy, but it might not be enough."

"You're going to go prematurely grey."

"Probably. You're trouble, you know that?"

"Sure, bird brain."

"Oh- I'm hurt. Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Hey- if the shoe fits…_now_ what are you doing?"

"Checking what you've got in here. You like _spinach_?"

"Yes!"

"Glad to see you eat your vegetables at least."

"You're impossible."

"So they tell me. I made Agent in record time, you know."

"Really- now are you gonna scare all the new kids so they don't break your record?"

"You kidding me? I'm going to scare them for fun- keeping my record's just a bonus."

"You hungry again? I feel like an omelet."

"Oh, Arlie, you need to understand one thing- I'm _always_ hungry."

My sister laughed at me and went to cook us up some breakfast. I noticed that she used three eggs for my omelet, but didn't say anything. It gave me a nice, warm feeling.

"So do you like this SHIELD place? I mean- I know you feel like it'll help you make up for things, but do you _like _it?"

"Well, I like Phil. Phil's a good guy. I'm pretty sure if he could, he'd've been a superhero. One of those ones without any powers but who fight anyways. You know- he loves Captain America."

"Really? I remember having to do a project on him in school during the WWII unit. He was pretty cool, I guess."

"Yeah, but Phil's like, _obsessed_, for a while now I've been hunting for these vintage trading cards to give him for Christmas and stuff. He's over the moon about them."

"I forget- did they ever find out what happened to him?"

"Nah- plane crashed and they never even found that. They looked though."

Arlie giggled at me.

"What?"

"Well, Phil seems to be rubbing off on you- look at you, all knowledgeable on the history of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan."

"Look at you remembering that nickname."

"One kid for his presentation played the song in the background for the whole five minutes he was talking. It was stuck in my head for days afterwards."

"But, anyways, back to the point, SHIELD isn't necessarily perfect, but I think they want to do good. Fury's a bit…odd. But I can deal with him. Still- I don't want anyone at SHIELD to know about you. There's a lot of nasty people out there who might come after you if they get their hands on the wrong information."

"Got it- don't call you while you're at work."

"Arlie, I'm being serious,"

"No, you're being paranoid again, but I'll play along. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"I get to meet Phil. You obviously trust him, so I do. He won't tell anyone about me if you don't want him to and I want to meet this guy."

"You drive a hard bargain: something I was planning on doing anyways, for your cooperation. Deal."

"Good, now shut up. I'm sleepy and you're probably tired too. There's an extra room just across from the bathroom. You can crash there and you are not allowed to leave this apartment until you say goodbye. Understood, Agent?"

"Yes ma'am." I give her a goofy salute and watch her head off to bed.

This might have just been the best day of my life. Or- two days. Whatever. I need some sleep.


	11. Interlude: Avenging Angel

**First: I want to take a moment to appreciate the title of this interlude. It was only partially intended- the stars just kinda aligned. This particular interlude was inspired by a review from roserain1998, who asked if Clint would ever find out about Richard. Well, perhaps I wasn't clear enough- but Arlie did talk about a lot of her past with Clint in that pasta-filled reunion, and originally I intended for that to include Richard (You will recall: Phil's file had record of Arlie's restraining order so Clint knows something went down), but then I got to thinking and realized, this conversation (and subsequent reaction) deserved its own moment, and thus an interlude was born.**

**Now I want to be clear here: I do not necessarily approve of Clint's reaction to his sister's confession. Nor do I condone violence with the exception of self-defense. That being said, I have taken a slug at a guy for making some verbal comments (that really should not ever be said let alone typed out) to a friend of mine. So I can understand the motivation, but I'm not saying I necessarily approve. That is why this chapter is written in a different style. Also, I just think this particular course of action is most accurate to Clint's character.**

**Ok- that disclaimer out of the way, let's get to the interlude. This is actually the third interlude I've written, but only the second posted. The third will come in a couple chapter's time, after Phil and Arlie meet.**

**Enjoy and review!**

* * *

**May 6th, 2005 (Clint)**

"Well, Phil called in some favors to get your information since we couldn't use SHIELD. He managed to make a file on you."

"Wait- a _file_?"

"Well- it is kinda how he does things. When he first met me he made a file on me. It's how he makes friends," Clint teased with a smirk.

"What was in the file?"

"Records from school, work, your address and phone number, some articles written about you or ones where you were mentioned. Also, some police records."

"Police?"

"Yeah." Clint paused and wondered if this was something his sister would be willing to share with him. He didn't want to push her away after all of this, but he _had_ to know.

"It was just a restraining order you had filed against this guy. Richard Durnin?"

There is silence for a few moments. Clint's heart is pounding and he's terrified. _Oh god do not be angry with me please don't kick me out please be fine with this please you don't have to tell me right now please please please_.

"Yeah…you remembered how I mentioned being in a bad spot a couple of years ago?"

Clint says nothing, trying to neither encourage nor discourage this conversation, letting Arlie take it at her own pace.

"Rich was kind of…the spot."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No- it's not that it's just- I'm a bit…ashamed is the word, I guess. It's not something I'm proud of letting happen and I realize it's not my fault but it does kind of feel like it is because I let it go on for so long and I just-"

I cut her off. "Arlie- Arlie, listen to me. Now I don't know what happened, I don't know what you're talking about, but I do know you. And you are one of the best people I know. Whatever happened, whatever you feel you did or didn't do, you should not feel ashamed. Ok- look who you're talking to. Look at everything I've done! Are you really saying that whatever you're talking about can in any way compare to all of the horrible things I've done? Listen to me- if I could pick _one person_ to be in charge of my life. To be in charge of keeping my conscious clear and my existence safe- it would be you. You're my little sister and nothing you could say to me would ever make me think any less of you."

"He hit me."

Clint sucks in a breath.

"A lot."

Arlie takes a deep breath and then continues, "It started around when I first turned twenty one and at first I just thought it was no big deal- I mean, sometimes when you get angry you just want to hit something. I've done it- can't tell you how many times I've punched a wall or my pillow and I thought it was just accidental. He didn't want to hurt _me_, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time when he was angry. And, I don't know when or how it happened, but it suddenly just wasn't accidental anymore and I knew it wasn't something I should let happen but I just let him walk _all over me_ and I didn't stop him. I barely put up a fight. Actually- I didn't put up a fight at all. I just- it was for _years_ and I knew I shouldn't let him do that to me but I thought – I mean, I had let it happen and perhaps I kind of deserved it since-" Clint finally managed to cut her off. He reached forward and grabbed his sister and pulled her close into a huge hug and spoke.

"That was not your fault. And I realize that just saying the words to you isn't enough. I realize that you're going to continue to blame yourself and you want to believe what I'm telling you but you don't dare to. Well- I will tell you this every day and I will show you a thousand times over in every way I know how: _it was not your fault_."

She nodded and rested her head on her brother's shoulder and let a few tears escape.

"I should kill the son of a bitch for hurting you."

"Don't bother- I got in one good hit when I left him and filed the restraining order and alerted the police and everything. He's on record and that's enough."

"Ok." _That really is not enough_.

* * *

**May 7th, 2005**

It's in the wee small hours of the morning. Two am, three, Clint's not precisely sure. But there is a man stumbling out of a bar and he matches the photo Clint stole from his sister's place of Richard Durnin. He's confidant she won't miss the picture- it was in a box of stuff she hadn't bothered to sort through after moving. She says when she's completely calm and free of any self-recrimination she'll go through it. She won't miss one photo.

Richard Durnin, known as Rich to his friends, is not completely sloshed but very very close.

Clint finds himself regretting it a bit- he wanted to meet this man on equal footing.

Then again, Richard Durnin never treated Arlie on equal ground.

"Richard Durnin?" Clint says, melting out of the alleyway like a detective in a B grade film. Maybe one of those Noir films, he thinks. Durnin's drunk, though, so it's suitably intimidating.

"Listen man- I don't have any money on me so you should find some one else to fleece."

"Are you Richard Durnin?"

The drunk man blinks slowly a few times and staggers a bit before answering, "Who wants to know?"

_That's a yes then._

Now what line to use next? Clint briefly considers using Phil's opening of "I want to talk to you about conviction," but dismisses that. He doesn't want to give Richard Durnin a second chance- he wants to be an avenging angel.

So perhaps a modification on a classic.

"I want to talk to you about my sister."

Richard Durnin won't be able to walk for a few weeks and his face will never quite look the same, but Clint feels just a tiny bit better.

He makes a mental note to _never_ let Arlie know about this.


	12. Two Bartons

**So I was trapped on another long bus ride today to go BACK to school to take my finals for this week after which school is over so I get to go BACK home in four days... I think maybe all finals should be online- would make my life easier.**

**But- as I was saying, long bus ride, trapped, I was bored which means I wrote at least ten chapters! Which means mucho updating for you guys! Now- most of them still need to be edited and neatened and all that jazz, but I'm pretty ahead of the game and rather excited about it.**

**Which brings us to this...the chapter where Arlie and Phil FINALLY meet. I was almost more excited for this meeting than I was for Arlie and Clint to be reunited. I just love Phil and I love Arlie and putting them in a room together with Clint brings me much happiness.**

**Please review, if you have an interlude request please ask and you shall probably receive- you know all of this.**

**Thank you thank you thank you to those who have reviewed! You are part of the reason I was inspired enough to write ten chapters today. Much love for you.**

**And- Happy Easter, all!**

* * *

**May 18th, 2005 (Phil)**

Barton's sister is short. About 5 feet. And she's got an uncanny resemblance to her brother without looking exactly like him.

She also can stare Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, down to the point where he's actually concerned.

"You're in charge of training my brother?"

"I am. And it's an honor."

"You're supposed to take care of him?"

"Well, I try," this girl may be tiny, but I have no doubt she'd find a way to take down all of SHIELD if it would help her brother. What little Clint has told me has revealed that this girl can safely be described as his world. Looking at how she's sizing me up and positions herself slightly in front of her brother shows that it's mutual.

I know she's a computer genius.

I know that she, apparently, cooks like a world-class chief (Clint adores her food, and Barton _knows _food).

I am aware that Clint is keeping her out of all of SHIELD's official knowledge and that the only person in SHIELD who actually knows who this girl is besides Clint himself- is me. I'm honored by the trust.

I also know this girl scares me a bit.

But then she grins and says "Well, we'll have to compare notes then cuz he's difficult."

"_Me_? _I'm_ difficult? You've got to be kidding me!" Clint says with a smirk on his face that gets wider by the moment.

"Miss Barton," I say with a grin, "I think we're going to get along great."

"Oh, crap," moans Clint, "What the hell have I done?"

"Completely ruined any chances of you getting away with anything for the rest of eternity," his sister cheerily informs him.

Yes- Arlie Barton might scare me a bit, but I definitely like her.

* * *

**June 3rd, 2005**

"Phil- when's your birthday?" Arlie asks me. We're sitting in a pizzeria celebrating Clint's latest successful mission (Arlie _clearly_ was not happy with her brother being out of the country on a dangerous mission but she said nothing, only hugged him a little harder than usual). I'm pretty sure that despite the entire pizza Clint's consumed all on his own (Arlie and I split one vegetarian- and it was _so nice_ to eat something _other than_ meat lover's) he'll go back to Arlie's apartment and eat even more.

I'm somewhat surprised he hasn't eaten her out of house and home yet, but I'm pretty sure he buys her groceries once in a while to make up for it.

"Don't even try it, Arlie," Clint tells her around a mouthful of meat lover's. "He refuses to reveal anything, and I'm not allowed near his file to find out for myself." Arlie's suddenly got a gleam in her eye.

Well, let me see if I can figure it out," shit. I know that gleam. Clint gets it when he does his "Shit" face. Shit. "How old are you, Phil?"

"Don't you know it's rude to ask someone their age?"

"That's only women," Arlie corrects.

"I'm not telling anyone with the last name of Barton anything on this subject. I'm allowed to let my birthday pass unnoticed if I so choose."

Arlie and Clint give identical snorts at the same time. Arlie then proceeds to roll her eyes and cross her arms, while Clint just looks heavenward as if pleading for patience and finishes his last slice of pizza.

It's a bit eerie.

"I promise you, Agent Phil Coulson, I will find this out," Arlie tells me while pointing a menacing finger in my direction.

"I'd give up now, Phil- she's even more stubborn than me."

That statement may or may not have sent a shiver up my spine.

"We'll see."

"Is that a "we'll see about telling you" or," says Arlie, "a "we'll see if you manage to figure this out on your own"?"

"We'll see."

"Oh," chimes in Clint, "It was a "we'll see if I can put off this conversation any longer." I gotcha."

The Barton siblings are going to kill me.

* * *

**July 4th, 2005**

"Happy Fourth of July, Phil!" says Arlie as I walk into her apartment. Clint is already there and moving around his sister's kitchen. Whether he is helping her make more food or just eating it is anyone's guess.

"Yeah, Happy Independence Day, you tattle tale," Clint yells over his shoulder from the kitchen. He's still upset that I told Arlie he had cracked a rib on the last mission- but I could tell he secretly loved having her bully and baby him into healing.

These two were weird.

"And it's sort of ironic that this is your birthday, too, Phil." Arlie says as if she's commenting on the weather. "So Clint and I made a cake for you as well. It's a bit small but it's chocolate with chocolate on chocolate."

"Wait- what?" I say, looking over at the elder Barton. He shrugged.

"I warned you."

"By the way, while I was poking around SHIELD's records I found out that you're actually allergic to watermelon, so for the red white and blue fruit sticks I used strawberries instead. So it's blueberries and strawberries with frozen yogurt chunks. Pretty tasty- bird brain ate six already."

"Hey!" shouted Clint.

"Shoe fits!" she shouted back.

"Hold on- you hacked into SHIELD?!" Somehow, I _am_ surprised. I really shouldn't be- Barton genes with computer hacking skills? I really should have known.

"Only into the personnel files- I didn't go into anything super top secret. And relax- the only ways I could do it involved actually being inside SHIELD or having an Agent- cough cough- Clint- help me out from here. No one will ever know, either."

"She's that good," her brother said as he came out of the kitchen with a platter of some cheese and crackers. Arlie was a lot like Clint in that she liked food- and a lot of it. She just preferred to serve it rather than eat it. It was a good thing we never had to worry about left overs with the elder Barton around. "By the way- did you know that the man on the third floor of your building with the yowling cat is ex-army? Dishonorably discharged."

"Yes, I did, and you need to stop checking up on everyone in the building. Paranoid."

"I prefer the term protective."

"I prefer being accurate, so- paranoid."

I sit down on Arlie's couch and grab a beer from the cooler she has positioned near both my and Clint's usual seats.

I should've known.

God help me- _two _Bartons!

Though, after we finished the Fourth of July celebration, having Clint and Arlie both sing happy birthday (terribly off-key) to me was one of the nicest things I can remember.

And it was damn good cake.

* * *

**December 25th, 2005**

"So what did Santa get you, Phil?" asks Arlie with her own version of Clint's five year old look. Her brother had just gifted her with some new tech stuff she had wanted and she was eagerly playing with all her new gadgets.

"I wasn't aware Santa was actually two troublemakers with the last name Barton."

"Shhh! Don't tell anyone- we worked really hard on that red suit disquise."

"Which one of you wears it?"

"Me, obviously," says Arlie with an eye roll, "Clint is dressed up as Rudolph."

"Hey! That's some gratitude you're showing, muchkin," Arlie makes a face at the nickname, "maybe I should take that tech stuff back,"

"But it's only because he's much better at balancing on roofs than me with all his super secret spy training- and I give him the cookies anyways?"

"Oh, ok then. You can keep it." Arlie bounces up and down from her cross-legged postion on the floor and leans over to give her brother a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Now, open you're present Phil! Stop lolly-gagging!" Arlie says, practically vibrating with excitement. Arlie adores Christmas and all it entails. Her apartment looks like she might have mass murdered some of Santa's elves in here, but her enthusiasm drags Clint into the happiest mood he has and brings me along too. It's practically impossible not to be happy with Arlie acting like a five year old. Add Clint acting like a five year old as well and it's great until they hit the sugar crash from all the dark chocolate they consume.

My theory is they're making up for all the years they weren't able to do this.

I open my present slowly, teasing Arlie who is practically vibrating until Clint shoves me and says "Just open it already!" lifting his eyes skyward as if to plead for patience. The grin stretching across his face kind of ruins it, but I tear open the gift anyways.

It's a vintage Captain America Helmet. An imitation for kids inspired by the Cap to wear and pretend for a little while to be fighting for America's freedom. I have no idea where they found it. I have no idea how they got their hands on it. I am kind of amazed at the condition it's in but mostly I am just deeply touched that the two of them teamed up to do this for me.

"How?"

"Well, the munchkin scoured the interwebs," Arlie stops grinning to punch her brother here, before returning to her beaming expression, "And saw that there wasn't really any for sale that were in anything like good condition, so she tracked sales records and even some people's wills to find out who owned one and _then_ we found this guy in Des Moines who was... less than a shining citizen and, well, we _couldn't_ just let him tarnish the reputation of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan but having a _criminal_ own a _vintage_ Cap helmet. So we did a road trip and convinced him to part with it after promising it would get to more deserving hands."

It's shady and probably more than a little illegal, but they're looking at me like they're proud of themselves and it's Christmas so I go with it and thank them until Arlie tells me to shut up and that she needs more egg nog if I'm going to keep that up. Clint makes her one and if he used less alcohol than when he made the drink for me and himself, we both silently agreed not to mention it.


	13. Interlude: Bit of a Theme

**So I've got another interlude for you! I've been sitting on this one for awhile, waiting for the story to progress far enough for me to put it up. Now I've got in my version, Phil constantly going on about "conviction." One, because I adored that line in the movie, and two, because he seems the sort of guy who really got behind things like that. And, if you look at the people he surrounded himself with: they were people of great conviction. So I've got my version of Phil in his fatherly manner discussing this with both Bartons and maybe even Natasha when she shows up (I've got that chapter written, but still neatening it up, which could mean potentially adding in things).**

**So another interlude (yay)! And if all goes according to plan today I should be posting another chapter tonight. I've got quite a few tests today (wish me luck!) so I won't have time to edit and post the next one till then. In the meantime, you have this:**

**Please review!**

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**May 18th, 2005 (Arlie)**

"I don't remember anything of it, but Clint does," I tell this Phil person who seems to have won over my brother's loyalty.

"What makes you say that?"

"We lived in the same orphanage for about two years after the crash, before we got shuffled around and split up. And practically every night while we were there, Clint and I would climb into bed with each other and Clint would have nightmares. He'd wake up and he'd immediately look for me. He'd stare at me for a solid minute or two before his breathing finally slowed down and when I was little I didn't really understand it, but I didn't question it either. I just thought it was a thing Clint did. Now I realize he was having nightmares about me in the crash. And about a week ago, when he first found me, he gave me the same look he used to whenever he woke up from the nightmares of the crash, except it lasted about ten times longer. And two nights ago when he crashed at my place, I woke up when he came in to check on me. He gave me the look then too."

"You sure?"

"I'm not sure what happened during that crash. I know it was because of a drunk driver, but that's because the people in charge would tell each other that. Clint- he remembers." I used to listen to the grown ups talk about me: trying to find out what happened because I didn't know. But Clint would pull me away like he didn't want me to hear and would tell me stories about mom and dad instead. Looking back, I know that crash haunts Clint. Maybe someday he'd talk to me about it, maybe he never will. But Clint will keep me safe and I'll keep him safe so it won't matter. We're together now and it might not be the reunion I'd imagined as a little girl (there was no Barney, there was no house with a dog for the three of us to live in together, and we weren't playing together all day long) but it was perfect enough with Clint being there and still loving me.

Phil sighs, "He'll be OK in the end though."

"How do you know?" I ask. It wasn't that I disagreed with the man- I just wanted to know why he seemed so utterly certain in this. For Agent Phil Coulson, this was fact. I wanted to understand.

"Conviction."

"What now?"

"When I first brought your brother to SHIELD, it was because I told him I could give him conviction."

"Conviction's a bit of a theme with you then."

"I guess you could put it like that. I just think that the best, the greatest people- ones with the most potential- have it."

"Like Captain America?"

He almost blushes, I swear. "Ah- so Clint told you about that."

"Yeah. But- back to the point. Conviction?"

He nods once. Firmly. "Conviction."

I start thinking about Clint, about conviction, about them separately and together.

"I don't have conviction in a lot of things. I don't believe people are really naturally good- I think Clint is, but I think Clint might be the exception to every rule. I think everyone has to work at being good. Maybe, what you call conviction is what I consider to be innate goodness. Or maybe I'm bitter."

"No- conviction is more than just being a good person. It's utter belief in something. Unfailing belief in the right thing."

"Clint."

"What about him?"

"I don't have a lot of conviction myself, but I have it in Clint. I think anyone would have it in Clint if they just look at him. He's the best person I know. When we were kids and still together right after our parents died, Clint asked some of the older girls at the orphanage to teach him to braid hair so he could do my hair for me in the morning like our mother used to. I don't remember my mom doing my hair- but I remember Clint braiding my pigtails for me. He always looks out for me. He went through my entire apartment complex and investigated all of my neighbors and generally annoyed me but he did it because he wants me safe. He's always looked out for me though. I can remember whenever I would get hurt as a kid- scrapped knees, stubbed toe, anything, I'd run to Clint and he'd just…fix it. He fixed everything for me. Even before our parents died he was that way. Barney," I gulp, still a bit sore over Barney and all he's done, "I can remember him two ways: before and after the crash. Clint has always been the same. He's my constant. I can count on him to always take care of me, not because I need him to, but simply because he can't _not_ look out for me. He even goes through my fridge to make sure I'm eating my vegetables! If there is one thing in this world I'm willing to believe in with absolute certainty, one thing I can promise myself will never change- it's Clint."

"I have never met someone with more conviction," says Phil softly, and I can tell it's the greatest compliment he can give someone, "and a lot of that comes from you, I think."

"Me?"

"You."

"What do you think that means then?"

"It means that if there is one thing in this world Clint's willing to believe in with absolute certainty, one thing your brother can promise himself will never change- it's you."

"Huh. So that's conviction."

"Yup."

"I can see why you think this is what makes people great."

"It certainly helps," he returns dryly.

"Do you think he's ordered more than one pizza? Because he's taking _forever_."


	14. Quite the Warrior

**So here we have a new chapter- this focuses on mainly the relationship between Arlie, Clint, and Phil, but we do get to see Arlie meet Fury (I laughed- actually, I cackled- during that bit) and the last line...well, I'll let you see for yourself!**

**Thank you to all how have favorited, followed, and reviewed. You're wonderful people.**

**Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

**July 4th, 2006 (Clint)**

"She's not safe," I said to Phil at the end of the party as we cleaned up, watching my sister type away on her computer, no doubt hacking into SHIELD to ensure they were treating me right. In the years we'd lost she'd become quite the warrior, willing to go to battle for me. Of all people: me. But she always was so stubborn and you couldn't talk Arlie out of something once she got her mind set on it, so I guess I shouldn't be so surprised.

"There's no records connecting to two of you, and whenever you meet we're very careful to hide any evidence that you two ever met."

"Yes, but suppose all that goes wrong. Someone could catch her and then she'd have no way to stop them. I could fail her- I could let her down again- I could," Phil cut me off before I could have a full-blown panic attack.

"You never failed her. You never let her down. Do you know what she did the entire time I was talking to her when we first met? She bragged about you. I got a whole ten minutes of The Greatest Hits of Clint Barton, from the time you learned to braid so you could do her hair for her to how you made sure to check her entire apartment complex for anyone unsavory and double checked she had vegetables in her fridge. The girl adores you. So calm down."

"But still- what happens? I mean- there are bad things that happen to ordinary people all the time! Girls in New York get mugged, or raped, or murdered, and she's strong, yeah, and I made sure she has pepper spray, but still- she's not safe."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Train her."

Phil was silent for one beat. Two.

"What?"

"I don't ever want to fail her again, but if I do, she'll only have herself to depend on. I'm going to make sure that no one could hurt her. Do you know what happens in some of those Foster Homes?" _Not to mention what that Richard guy did to her_.

Phil said, almost on a whisper, "Yeah."

"I'm not going to ever let her get bruised like that again, and that means making sure she can take care of herself. Because I might not always be here."

"Alright, Big Brother, sounds like you've got a work out regime to plan." Phil sighed the sentence, but I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was proud of me. Between the two of us, Arlie would always be safe.

* * *

**August 6th, 2006**

Arlie was surprisingly willing to take some self-defense classes from me. She looked at them with an attitude that was serious when discussing the reasoning behind the lessons, but once we'd get going she'd be playful and giggling with each kick and punch.

She was tiny which I taught her to use to her advantage- she could slip out of my or Phil's grasp easily and the more she practiced the better she got.

It probably helped that her teachers were two fully trained Agents of SHIELD who were both active fighters and completely wrapped around her finger.

She would be fine, I told myself as I watched her softly tap Phil's knee to show she could've taken him down to the ground.

Yeah- if she were got go up against someone on my or Phil's level she'd only last a few minutes. But I told her she just needed to last long enough to get away and call me or Phil.

She nodded and then grinned as she kicked my legs out from under me and dashed over to Phil yelling his name and giggling.

Always said she was a spitfire.

* * *

**October 7th, 2006**

Arlie's birthday party was small- her, me, and Phil and she told me she'd be celebrating with some girlfriends by going out to lunch the next day. I was relieved to notice that the ex-army guy had moved out. Of course, it might have been because I dropped a few hints at the building manager.

But who can say for sure?

The new tenant was a sweet little old lady who Arlie had helped move in. In her usual chattering she had managed to completely enchant the dear while also amusing her.

Arlie sometimes has a bit of a brain to mouth malfunction. In which there is not filter between the two.

You can always guarantee she's being honest, at least.

My little sister was hugging Phil goodbye and thanking him again for the presents- Phil had gotten quite attached to Arlie (who wouldn't?) and was really beginning to spoil her. I would be jealous if it wasn't one of the greatest things I'd ever seen and they didn't include me in practically everything they did.

I stood up after Phil had left and lightly pulled on my sister's braid.

"You ready to spar?" she rolled her eyes and agreed to another lesson. We didn't bother moving her furniture ("Why do that? If I'm getting into a fight I won't have time to move stuff around for a clear space. Best to learn to work around things. Or use them.") and began to fight.

My sister is safe, I thought, as she managed to take me down and knock the air out of me for a good two minutes.

She was better than most trainee SHIELD agents at this point. And in only three months.

She wouldn't be able to win 100% of the time against me or Phil, and she'd never take down someone like Fury or Agent Hill whose fighting style she wasn't as familiar with, but she could take down an average mugger without breaking a sweat and anyone coming after my sister would be sure to underestimate her.

_She was great at taking advantage of that_, I thought as she slipped through my grip and kicked out my knee before I even noticed she was gone.

Damn, is this how Phil felt when I finally managed to beat him sparring?

No wonder he grinned for the rest of the day.

* * *

**December 15th, 2006**

"So we'll be missing Christmas this year. Off to Central America. Not sure if Santa visits there," I tell my sister from my seat on her couch as she passes me the chips. She smacks the back of my head and answers me.

"Well, I'm sad you won't be here on the actual day, but you'll come back in time for New Year's," she turns and gives me a fierce glare as she adds, "and you'd _better_ come back. So we can just celebrate Christmas with New Year's this year and have one gargantuan party!"

"I thought you usually spent New Year's with your friends."

"I do, but I can give them some excuse and celebrate Christmas this year with them instead. Relax, bird brain, you'll still get your present."

"You gonna tell me what it is?"

"Not a word."

"Come on, munchkin- I'm a trained spy- I could just figure it out by snooping."

"You go ahead and try- it's not here."

"Where is it, then?'

"Not. A. Word." And then she _actually_ stuck her tongue out at me.

Well two can play at that game.

* * *

**April 5th, 2007**

"So how's it feel to be twenty eight?" asks my sister after I've blown out the candles on the quadruple chocolate cake she's made me (my eyes might have teared up a bit when she first said "quadruple chocolate").

"Much better than turning twenty four," I joke and elbow Phil who's sitting on my other side.

"Is this one of the SHIELD jokes I don't get?" Arlie asks.

"I'd be happy to tell you all about it," chuckles Phil.

"NO! Let's not tell that story and say we did."

"So we were in Romania and it was pouring rain," Phil begins anyways.

"You're cruel," I mutter to Phil under my breath while Arlie laughs at me. But she gives me a big slice of cake so I don't complain.

Quadruple chocolate cake, I discover, makes everything better.

* * *

**September 5th, 2007**

We're in the middle of _Ghostbusters_ when there is a knock on her door. Arlie kicks me in the shin which is my cue to go answer it for her. She's wrapped up in about thirty blankets and sniffling from her cold so I don't say anything, just moving the mug full of chicken noodle soup closer to her. She gives me a pathetic sniffle as I move towards the door.

Director Fury is on the other side of it.

_Shit_.

He raises an eyebrow and says in the driest voice I've ever heard (even drier than Phil's- which says something), "Aren't you going to invite me in, Agent Barton?"

_Double shit._

I open the door wider and let the leader of SHIELD in, just as my phone starts ringing. I recognize the number as Phil's and answer.

"Too late," I sigh and hang up before Phil has a chance to respond.

"Arlie- this is Director Fury. Director, my sister." Arlie's eyebrows have almost skyrocketed and she is shifting in embarrassment- she's in her pajamas, covered in blankets, and clearly sick. This was not how she would want to meet anyone, let alone Fury.

Unfortunately, I can also tell she's not really intimidated by the large man in the black leather trench coat with an eye patch.

_Oh I am so screwed._

"I have a mission for you, Agent Barton, and it's of the utmost importance and highest security." He has yet to look away from Arlie. I've never been so damn nervous in my life.

"Sir?"

"Is there something I can do for you?" Never mind- the award for driest voice I've ever heard goes to my sister. I find enough room in my nervousness to also feel a swell of pride- Director of SHIELD and general bad ass? My sister- still not cowed.

"This is your apartment?" asks the Director. Arlie stiffens.

"Yes."

"Is it secure?"

"As Clint could make it," is her reply.

I'm ready for something to just swallow me up and take me from this nightmare and, like an angel of better-late-than-never, Phil appears at the door and opens it. I hadn't locked it behind Fury.

_Well, crap, so much for secure as I could make it._

"Ah- Director."

"I presume you knew about this, Agent Coulson."

"Well, sir," begins Phil but my sister, without having changed her tone once since she began speaking to the Director of SHIELD, interrupts.

"This?" she pauses while the Director offers no comment, "I presume we're talking about my existence? You'll find I'm perfectly legal, I have a social security number, birth certificate and everything. I'm even registered to vote. Isn't that _nice_?"

_Please save me please save me Phil do something good god Arlie is back talking and snarking Director Fury holy crap can this get worse? What's she going to do next? Stick her tongue out at him?_

"Agent Barton why is your sister not on any of our information of you?"

"Well, Director," I say, now finding my own version of Arlie's dry voice coming out of my mouth without any sort of planning from me, "Because I didn't want you to know about her. I should think that was obvious."

"I just wanted verbal confirmation."

"Director Fury, sir," Phil cuts in, ready to do damage control, "Miss Barton is not of use to SHIELD and, by Agent Barton's omission of her from our records, he's making it much more difficult for enemies of SHIELD to potentially compromise him. Keeping Miss Barton out of general knowledge is as beneficial to SHIELD as it is to Agent Barton."

"I'm sure."

There's silence in the apartment for several heartbeats I don't want to count. _Eleven._

"Very well then, I still have a mission for you Agent Barton. It's in the Czech Republic. We have intelligence of an assassination conspiracy with one of the most notorious hit men worldwide. We want you to stop her. You're to take out the Black Widow."


	15. Kansas

**New chapter! For those of you waiting for Natasha to come: give it some time. It's going to take Clint a while to catch her (she is the Black Widow, after all), but in the meantime we get this! More of Fury (which is quickly becoming something I'm really entertained to write) and Phil and Arlie both arguing with him. Both are rather successful, Phil simply because of his Phil-ness, and Arlie because she is masterful at scorn. But the Black Widow will be joining us soon- have no fear. And we **_**do**_** get to see her and Clint's first meeting.**

**Will it be love at first sight?**

**No.**

**But it will be epic.**

**Anyways- enjoy the chapter, please review, and Happy Earth Day everyone!**

* * *

**September 5th, 2007 (Phil)**

The Director is not really a hard man to read most of the time- especially when he's pissed. He's never afraid to let you know when he's pissed.

He's pissed.

"Agent Coulson you want to tell me why exactly it is you didn't feel the need to inform me that Barton had a _sister_?"

We're in his office waiting for Clint to come for his briefing before taking off for the Czech Republic to go after the most notorious assassin known- who has cut a red swath through most of the world and never been taken down. We don't even have a picture of the Black Widow- she's that good.

I am terrified for my agent's safety even while a small part of me is so proud that even Fury believes Clint is good enough to do this.

But most of me is terrified.

"I was actually never informed in an official capacity, Director." Even as I say it, I know that is not going to work on Fury- but I've got a trump card.

"Phil-" he warns me.

"Director- you're not going to hold this against Agent Barton."

"Oh- I'm not?"

"No, sir."

"And why the hell not?"

"If you look at Agent Barton's file and mine you'll notice something in common- but also something very different. In the section labeled "Living Family, "neither of us has any relatives written down. But I wrote out "none," while Barton left it blank. I've seen your file sir- you left it blank, too."

Fury is silent for a beat or two. I'm trying not to show just how much I'm hoping this gamble pays off. I know I'm right, but Fury is still the Director and it's up to him.

"Damn it, Phil," he sighs and sits down, "This boy of yours is the best Agent we've ever had, and he's a loose cannon. He doesn't play well with others- won't work with anyone but you and sometimes Hill if he's in a good mood, has a secret sister that he's keeping the entire organization but for you in the dark about, and does whatever he damn well pleases most of the time. Now you tell me, since you know him so goddamn well- what do I do with that boy?"

"Sir- Clint is our best Agent because he doesn't want anyone he doesn't trust on the comm; because he demands the same high level of work from his partners as he demands from himself; because he has a heart that makes sure he does everything to keep what he does care about- his sister, this organization- safe; because he is willing to do whatever he thinks is necessary to achieve what he determines with his morals as the best outcome of every mission. His being a loose cannon is what _makes_ him the best.

"I suggest you let him do what he wants."

"You trust him?"

"With my life, with this agency's future, with his sister."

"You trust her?"

"To do anything to help her brother? Yes. She has no ties to SHIELD but through Clint and myself. If either of us were to leave SHIELD she would follow. But she's not an Agent."

"But she's good isn't she? I've done some digging since meeting that girl- she's got talent. Not for the bow, but if there is anything she can't do with a computer it hasn't been discovered yet. That company she's working at doesn't realize what they have."

"No, sir. But I'd think she'd tell you she likes it that way- she enjoys it when people underestimate her."

"Likes the look on their faces when she comes out of nowhere and surprises them?"

"You've got it, sir."

"Devious thing, then. Maybe we'll see if we could get her into SHIELD."

"I can't say much on your chances for success."

There's a knock that interrupts the conversation.

"Sir? Agent Barton is here."

"Send him in," calls Fury. True to form, Clint strolls into the room as if it's _his_ office and slumps down in a chair without a word.

His eyes, though, are completely focused and have already scanned the room and settled on Fury's face.

"Agent."

"_Director_."

"Here's a file on your latest mission," he hands a large folder over to Barton- I've already paged through it and I already know what Barton's going to pick up on first.

"Damn, that's a long rap sheet- it's even longer than mine- granted, she's been working since she was…where the hell is the personal info? No age- no name except Black Widow- NO PICTURE?! How the hell am I supposed to catch this chick if I don't have a clue what she looks like?"

"Nobody knows what the Black Widow looks like," is Fury's comment.

"I'd suggest looking for the most beautiful woman in the room, if rumor is to believed," is mine.

Clint looks back and forth between us- disbelief written all over his face.

"So all we know about this girl is the list of people she's been said to kill, starting in…1993? She's been working for _fourteen years_? No wonder her file's even bigger than mine! And the pay! She takes a couple hits a year and she's golden! Do you realize how much people would pay just for the name "Black Widow"? I mean- when I got a bit of a reputation built up my offerings tripled! And then it's just a matter of finding the highest bidder. It was easy for me- everyone notices arrows, but the reputation when you kill with- what has she used? Bullets, poison, strangulation, _god_, electrocution- she's a machine."

There's a lot of worry in Clint's voice- he does not want to abandon Arlie by dying on a mission, and he's definitely past the point where he flirts with death the way he used to- but there is also some awe. He may be an Agent of SHIELD, he may be a big brother, and a good man full of conviction, but a part of Clint will always be an assassin. And that part is called by the Black Widow and suitably impressed.

I'd shudder to think what Hawkeye would have become if he had been an assassin on his own for fourteen years.

No amount of conviction would've pulled him back then, I think.

I think the only thing that would've saved him at that point would've been Arlie. But it would be a horrible kind of salvation- one filled with guilt and pain and misery on Clint's side.

He might have done more than just flirt with death. Might have done more than begged death to take him if he had that much blood on his soul and sought redemption.

"You think I could actually take her out?" asks Clint, and the Agent is back in the fore. He's Agent Barton now, not Hawkeye, master assassin.

I'm more than a little relieved.

"I have a great deal of faith in you, Agent Barton. More important," says Fury, "Agent Coulson does. I'm a tough son of a bitch, but Agent Coulson is a smart one. I'm going to trust him and he trusts you."

"Ok, then," he shrugs and tosses the file down on top of his duffle bag. Packed with weapons rather than clothes, no doubt.

"Ok, then," parrots Fury, "You're dismissed, Agent Barton. Good luck."

Barton stands but doesn't move away.

"One last thing, Director. My sister-"

"I know nothing officially."

I could kiss Fury for the way Clint's shoulders suddenly relax and he smirks.

"Thank you, Director."

"Get the hell out of my office, Barton, and go kill the bitch."

"Yes, sir."

And if Clint says "sir" with no hint of respect and salutes mockingly, well, we're all used to it now.

* * *

**September 6th, 2007**

"I don't like Fury." Was my greeting from Arlie as I entered her apartment. I'm not surprised- I often think Arlie doesn't like SHIELD much, and Fury is the representation of SHIELD, so of course she wouldn't like the man. It's funny, I think, because in some ways, the only person who would stand a chance against Arlie would probably be Fury.

"I don't think he likes either of you Bartons much either, but there are over six billion people in this world and we can't like them all."

Arlie scowls as she settles back down on the couch.

"So he's in the Czech Republic?" asks Arlie as I hand her a cup of tea. She's still got her cold and I promised Clint when he left that I'd check in on her.

I didn't bother to point it out that I'd have done it anyways- he knew, he just liked having a promise.

"You know I'm not technically supposed to tell you anything."

"Fine," she pouts, "You know Clint's going to tell me all the fun bits when he gets back anyways."

"I know, but I'll pretend I don't. Keeps me saner. Now- you good here? Cuz I have to head back to base since your brother should be checking in soon."

"I'm fine, as I've told _both_ of you multiple times- it's just a cold, for Christ's sake- now go make sure my brother doesn't do something stupid! And if you have to go to the Czech Republic to pull his ass out of a fire, just go and don't bother worrying about me. No go! Before I kick you out!"

I get out- Arlie can kick pretty hard since Clint and I started training her.

* * *

**September 10th, 2007**

"What the hell am I doing, Phil?" asks Barton when I answer his call. He's been in Czech Republic for about three days now and he's already getting antsy. It's the oddest thing- usually my Agent has more patience than anyone I've ever known. Arlie's got none, but Clint can wait forever in silence, completely still.

"I think you're looking for the Black Widow before she takes out her target."

"I know- and, I figure- follow the target and look who else is following the target and I'd catch her. But it's been three days and no one the least bit suspicious has stuck around and the target is still annoyingly alive."

"What?"

"Well- seriously, I almost think _I_ should take out this guy. He _flosses_," Clint's voice is offended. "All. The. Time. Seriously- it's not even a between meals thing- it's whenever there is a moment of stillness. He must have bought all of the floss in Easter Europe!"

"So over enthusiastic dental hygiene is punishable by death?"

"Well it damn well should be."

"What's really going on, Clint?"

He sighs stormily.

"I need computer help."

"Well I'll call one of the tech guys and-"

"No," my Agent cuts me off and I get a sinking feeling. "It's beyond them."

"How beyond them?"

"Completely."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, Clint."

"I know. I know. But the only way I can make sure the Black Widow doesn't get this guy at this point is to take him out myself. I don't know what I'm _looking_ for, Phil."

I sigh. I'm absolutely that in that precise moment I can feel a grey hair forming. Actually- several of them. One for each Barton, one for the Black Widow, and one for me.

Maybe even one for floss.

"How do you want to do this?"

"Whatever we do her actual name is not to be used- call her Spitfire or Kansas or something?"

"Kansas?" it's absurd in this moment- but I want to know why Kansas.

"Well, she's a munchkin, and we're bringing her into Kansas and out of Oz. So- Kansas."

_Well, he would consider this Kansas and the regular world Oz._

"Ok- so we'll bring in Kansas and have her help you. I'll convince Fury."

"You sure you'll be able to?"

"I've got a plan."

"Ok. Phil: good luck."

"Talk to you in a few, Barton."

My plan for Fury was simple: tell him we're desperate.

It worked.

* * *

**September 11th, 2007**

"It is four in the morning and I am wandering through SHIELD base. Lovely." Arlie snarks as I lead her through to the computer room she has access to. It's should have everything she might need- including (I made sure) a bar of dark chocolate.

Arlie stress eats.

"Well, Kansas, here you go," I lead her into the room and it is empty except for the two of us and Fury. He insisted on being there.

"Well, Director Fury, lovely to see you as always," Arlie gives him an airy wave and plunks herself down in the seat before the computer.

I've always had to admire the Barton gene for sarcasm- they bring it to a whole new level.

"Kansas," he greets, and smirks a little when he sees Arlie twitch at the code name. I have no doubt she knows the logic Clint went through to get to it.

She'll probably give him an earful when she talks to him.

The connection goes through and Clint answers.

"Hawkeye."

"Kansas," Arlie begins, and I find myself wishing I had bet the Director money on this- I could've made twenty dollars, easy. "_Really_? _Kansas_? You're giving me a code name and _that's_ what you come up with?"

"I thought it was clever."

"Yeah, and you thought opening a restaurant that specializes in selling day-old cold pizza was clever."

"I'm telling you- it's an untapped market."

"You're an idiot, bird brain."

"Ok, _Kansas_- let's get to work before I'm as grey as Phil."

I briefly consider objecting, but Clint's already telling Arlie what he wants her to do.

"Damn- ok- I'd need to actually be with you to do some of this shit."

"You can hack it?" asks Fury.

"Anything is hackable. There is no such thing as perfectly secure. Anything that can be protected can be hacked."

"Even SHIELD?" asks the Director and I get a bit of a sinking feeling.

"I wouldn't know," asks Arlie haughtily, her nose going an inch or two into the air, the perfect look of an insulted woman.

_Oh, she's good_.

"Ok- listen, bird brain, I'm going to do as much as I can from this end and talk you through what you need to do from that end. Got it?"

"Go for it, Kansas."

"I'm going to pretend I get that name from the band."

"If it makes you feel better," Clint says lightly.

"It _does_," Arlie practically snarls at him, all while typing furiously on the computer. What she's doing is beyond me, and even the dumbed-down (according to her) instructions she gives Clint go over my head.

I look over at the Director and can tell he's a bit impressed.

Also- he does not for one moment believe she hasn't hacked into SHIELD.

The Barton siblings are going to kill me.

It may have been an hour, it may have been a day, but some interminable time of stress later, Arlie and Clint seemed to be talking faster and faster back and forth and Arlie was getting more and more unintelligible to anyone but another techie when finally she shouted.

"GOT HER!"

"What?" asked the Director, taking a few steps forward. On the screen was a 3D image of a woman. Her hair was the brightest red I had ever seen- she was a few inches taller than Arlie and drop dead gorgeous.

"We hacked into a couple of different security systems to compile video evidence from previous assassinations- by the way, that list is shorter than you think, some of those she didn't actually do, but then again, she might have done more you haven't caught yet, and you know-"

"Kansas-" I cut her off, barely remembering to call her the code name rather than her real one. Clint would've killed me for that.

"Right. Anyways, we also went through recordings of police station waiting rooms. You guys have already determined that the testimonies were useless, but it's amazing what people will talk about in a waiting room. She clearly works from the angle of being completely remarkable but also untraceable as an actual killer. Practically every waiting room had at least one mention of a beautiful woman who was there but a relative unknown. No one questioned who she was too closely- mostly remarking how beautiful she was and who had flirted with her and who she had taken home with her. It appears she does single out her target and kills him, but makes it seem like she went home with someone else beforehand- thus giving the pretty woman at the party a nice alibi. So we complied all the comments on her looks, all the video evidence we could find of those parties- she seems to usually go for her target at big events, it makes a big sensation when they're found dead and a lot of confusion, so beautiful women you were staring at earlier in the night tend to slip your mind for a while there- and we complied all of it into this picture. Gentlemen, you are looking at the Black Widow. Now, I'm going to try and use a program used in missing persons cases- it ages people so when people, especially children, go missing for several years they can keep the pictures at least somewhat accurate- but I'm going to reverse it. She looks like she's- what? About my age? So we're going to age reverse her to what she looked like as a child and search through databases of missing persons."

"You think she was a missing person at some point?"

"If she's about Kansas's age that means she started killing when she was thirteen or fourteen- you don't get that way with parents around, typically. You get that way from being on your own and having the wrong people take you in," Clint's voice came to us over the speaker. He spoke from experience, and we all knew it, so we let it go.

The computer was running and making a high-pitched whirling sound.

"Damn," said Arlie, "She's not from anywhere in Western Europe or the Americas, let's try Eastern Europe and, what the hell, Asia, too. The records are crappy from that time period, but worth a shot."

"How do you know what age to look for in the missing persons?" asks Fury.

"I don't, so I've run the age program several times for multiple pictures and am searching from ages two through fourteen simultaneously. Why the computer's heating up so much. Normally wouldn't do this. Nice toys you got here, by the way."

The computer beeped.

"Wait- found something- interesting- it's not actually a missing persons case."

"I thought that was what you were searching," I asked Arlie.

"Well, yeah, but I also remembered when I was looking for," Clint coughed over the connection, warning his sister not to give too much away while in SHIELD's sights. "Well- when kids go missing there isn't always records of it online years later. Especially in the time we're looking for. So I just did news articles as well. Lots of the older newspapers have put their achieves online nowadays so you can get stuff from decades back over the internet. See- now this is some newspaper from Moscow. I don't read Russian. Or speak it. So I can't tell you what it says, but that," she points at a picture of a little girl with two adults who must be her parents, "might just be our Black Widow."

"I'll get someone in linguistics to translate," says Fury.

"Hold on- I can read some Ukrainian, I might be able to pick out the basic gist- send it to me, Kansas."

"Sending." She turns to whisper to me, "When did he learn Ukrainian?"

"He actually speaks quite a few languages, doesn't read many though. He learned before SHIELD."

"Oh."

"Ok- I'm seeing something about a fire- I think the article is about a fire that happened in the family's house. The parents apparently died and the girl…wasn't found."

"What's the girl's name?" asks Arlie.

"Natasha. Natasha Romanova."

"It's pretty," says Arlie, a little bit of heartbreak in her voice. I am suddenly reminded that this is the girl who forgave her brother without a second's hesitation. Forgave him for almost a hundred out right assassinations, not to mention how many he might have killed in fights during missions, from both before and during SHIELD. Forgave him for all his sins and all the blood split by his hand. Without hesitation.

I suddenly wonder if it was because it was Clint, or because she could forgive practically anyone.

Even the Black Widow was once a child.

I looked at the picture again- she was so small, a happy smile on her face, squished between two parents who, judging from the photo, adored her.

A fire.

And out of the ashes rose an assassin.

Arlie finished up with Clint and wished him good luck, Fury sent the article down to translation to have Clint's deductions confirmed, and went to walk Arlie out. I followed.

"Kansas, you've done quite a job tonight. Demonstrated not only exceptional use of technology, but also a sort of initiative that I wish more of my people had."

"I want to say thank you but I feel like this is just buttering me up for something I'm not gonna want to hear."

"I don't like you- I don't like you or Agent Barton's attitude, but I do like your particular skill set. I'd like to offer you a position at SHIELD in our technology department- I think you'd be a great asset to the agency."

"When hell freezes over."

"Do you have a problem with my agency, Miss-" he cuts himself short from using her real name and substitutes, "Kansas?"

"Yes- I do. You may do some good here, Director Fury" I don't think I've ever heard Arlie's voice dripping with such scorn. It's tangible, "But I do not support it. I'm not my brother- I'm not looking for redemption. I, quite frankly, think you take advantage of Clint. He wants to do good. And he does- but he does it by killing more. On your orders. You use my brother for what he can do and let him think he's making up for some sins. Well, I don't think my brother needs you, but _he_ does, and I won't get in his way. Phil believes that you are protecting the ordinary people, and he's willing to do whatever he has to so those ordinary people can continue to be safe and ignorant. But I'm not looking to protect the world. I'm not looking to protect the country. I'm looking for one thing- my brother's safety. _You_ can't give me that."

We were at the exit and a car was waiting for Arlie.

"So, without _any_ due respect at all, Director Fury, I'm saying no way in hell. I will help my brother whenever he needs it, but I am _not_ taking your money for it."

She turned on her heel and left without a single pause or waver in her step.

I don't know about the Director, but I was damn impressed.

"Hell, _two Bartons_," is the next thing Fury manages to say.

I quite agree.


	16. Forgot the Wind

**Here it is. Clint and Natasha are about to meet. I am so freaking excited for this bit, I'm going to be honest. I am a huge fan of Clintasha, and writing this (even if it wasn't romantic) was SO MUCH FUN. Because they have finally meet! Ugh- anyways. I'm just going to let you read this because this is actually one of my favorite chapters even though it contains practically no mention of Arlie. Still probably one of my favorites.**

**Read & review please!**

* * *

**September 16th, 2007 (Clint)**

It's raining, it's cold, the Black Widow's target is at some sort of gala thing, and I'm stuck on a fire escape in the dark waiting for _my_ target to show up.

Natasha Romanova.

Arlie was right, it was a pretty name.

And a pretty woman.

And a terrifying reminder.

That could've been me. I could've gone that far. If Phil had never found me- a few more years and I could've been this woman.

Except our styles were totally different.

I thought on that- I wasn't used to assassins like this. They were more suitable to movies than the real world- the ones who get close, who let you see their face, who use whatever is handy…ok, I do know how to use whatever is handy, but I prefer my bow. This woman seems to have no preference.

She thrives on getting your attention and holding it. You're so busy focusing on her looks and her charms, you miss the blood and the death until suddenly she's gone and the fog lifts.

And even then you don't think to connect her to the crime.

SHIELD had managed to get one picture of me- from Carson's. They connected Hawkeye the assassin and Hawkeye the circus act and managed to go from there.

I'll admit, my professional pride is a little wounded that this woman managed to do what I couldn't and keep herself unknowable. Keep herself shrouded in the shadows and the blood stains.

But not from Arlie.

She wasn't smart enough for my sister and me working together with Phil.

The world should tremble from that trio- I'm sure Fury is.

The thought made me smirk. I could just imagine my sister sassing Fury as she managed to make the entire of SHIELD's tech department look obsolete.

She must've pissed him off _so_ much.

A car pulls up and a woman steps out. She's dressed in a large fur overcoat that stops just above her hips- from there every inch of her is highlighted by a form-fitting black dress that drapes to the ground. She's holding it up from the wet ground with one hand while another is clutching her coat around her throat. Her shoes are _tall_. Like, I'm wondering how she's walking _tall_.

But Phil was right- you want to find the Black Widow, you look for the most gorgeous woman in the room. She enters the party and I begin to move- I'm not in a tux so I won't be joining the celebration, but air vents are great for people like me.

Fifteen minutes later I'm watching the Black Widow charm the entire room. She's got them all in her thrall, every single one of them.

Damn, she's good.

I'm nervous- I have never gone up against someone on this level and while, yes, between my sister and me we were able to begin revealing her past, but my sister is not here right now (_thank god_), and no one but me controls this bow.

_Shit- I hope I don't get the bow string all sweaty._

I could just hear Phil's voice in my head right now, "_Come on Clint, use that brain you keep insisting you have. If she's going to kill the target how would she do it? Not how would you do it- how is the Black Widow going to take the target out?_"

I started thinking- the target was a man, single, not much of a drinker and extremely particular about what he eats from the way he sneers slightly at the hors d'oeuvres being passed around.

Not poison then.

But- he's very much intrigued with the Widow and she can easily spin him into her web.

Yeah- she'll take him upstairs.

"_So how are you going to stop her?"_ Arlie's voice has joined in, and is asking me.

_Follow her up and stop her in the act. She'll incapacitate him first, and then I can take her out while she's busy with him._

I do just that and as I'm about to put an arrow into the Black Widow, a breeze from the widow comes and throws my arrow off.

_Damn, I forgot the wind. Should've listened to Trick Shot._

The arrow embeds itself in the wall.

Next thing I know I'm in hand to hand combat with the Black Widow and it's _easy_.

Fighting is just reacting. Give and take. Well, I'm giving all my effort and taking a whole bunch of injuries. I swear I'm hitting this woman but you wouldn't know it from how she's fighting like a mad cat.

We fight for what seems to be an eternity. Neither yielding, both taking damage- I manage to dislocate her right arm- she cracks a few of my left ribs. She throws me a punch, I take her hand and use her own momentum to twist her around. She rolls with it and kicks a leg up at me. I grab her foot next and attempt to throw her. She jumps in the direction I'm tossing her and then she's running. She tosses something behind her- I think it's a knife so I dodge and run after her.

Whatever she's thrown explodes and the room goes up in flames.

_Well, wasn't expecting that._

I go after her and I'm _really_ wondering how she's running in those heels when I wasn't even sure how she walked in them.

My question was answered when some very sharp spikes are thrown at me. Appartently- the heels detach and become weapons.

_Shit. What have I gotten into?_

Running is not as easy as fighting. Running is blood pounding in my ears and tension building and now I've got to climb after her on a fire escape.

Ha- she clearly was not trained by acrobats.

She was tinier and faster than me, but I catch up to her just as she exits the fire escape. I tackle her to the ground and it's not the least bit graceful and there is no technique to it- it's a rugby tackle and she goes down and hits her head.

She lashes out and I'm pretty sure my right leg has now got a fracture and I know her left arm is broken.

We're both breathing hard and I stand up while nocking an arrow. She's half-sitting up on the ground and looks first at my arrow and then at my eyes.

That's when I see it.

_She wants and doesn't want to die. She doesn't want whatever might come after this- judgment or hell or Ragnarok because she knows what she'll be sentenced to- but she wants oblivion. She wants an end._

And here I pause because I _know_ that look. I've _had _that look. I _gave_ that look to Agent Phil Coulson on the night of my sister's nineteenth birthday before I realized he wasn't going to kill me.

I also know how to lose that look.

So the arrow goes back in my quiver and the bow gets put away too. I sit down across from the Black Widow, my legs stretched out in front of me and my hands propping my torso up behind me on a roof in the cold rain in the Czech Republic.

"I want to talk to you about redemption."

* * *

**September 17th, 2007**

"I could kill your entire organization from the inside," she tells me, "I could kill you while your guard is down and we're waiting for transport to your base. I could learn all your agency's secrets and then run and sell them to the highest bidder," she pauses, as if waiting for my to respond. I don't. "Why are you trusting me to do this?"

"Because I've been where you are and then a man kicked my ass around an alley way and said he wanted to talk to me about conviction. Because I know what you want- you want it to stop and you don't know how to get that other than death, but you also fear that if, just _if_, there is something after death- well, you fear an eternity of something even worse than this."

"For in that sleep what dreams may come must give us pause."

"Huh?"

"It's Shakespeare."

"I never got into poetry."

"Hamlet. I like words."

"You don't say many."

"I like beautiful words. I don't have many beautiful words to say. Anything I say ends up like broken glass- pretty as it sparkles in the sunlight but dangerous when you pick it up and examine it."

"Huh."

"You really are going to do this? Let me live and have me work for your side."

"It's not perfect, but it's better, and it's a chance for redemption. So maybe when we die, we won't burn in hell."

"I'm not sure I believe in a god."

"No- I wasn't for a long time either. But I'm sure you believe in a devil."

She said nothing.

"Are you certain?" she asks again.

"I'm willing to take a bet on you."

"I'm not a safe bet."

"No- that'll just make it so much better when I can say _I told you so._"

"Very well than, Hawkeye. I agree- if you can manage to convince your superiors not to kill me on sight."

"I can do that. I've got someone who'll back me up," I grin and stick out my hand for her to shake. She takes it primly, her small hand dwarfed by mine. But we've both got callouses from all the weapons we've learned to handle and though it's not visible, there's a lot of blood there. "Welcome to SHIELD, Black Widow."

"Thank you, Agent Clinton Barton."

"No no no no no- It's just Clint. Not Clinton."

"Clint."

"Better."

"My name is Natasha Romanova. But I think I want a new one."

"New destiny, new name?"

"Something like that."

"What name you gonna pick?"

"I'll keep Natasha- it's something I know is mine. But I think my surname should change."

"You should keep it Russian."

"Why?"

"Because as much as you may hate your past- it is a part of you. And sometimes people need reminding of that."

"What about Romanov?"

"Too similar. What was the name of those Princesses? Romanoff?"

"Yes. But why that one?"

"You're a bit old school."

"I learned English from pre-WWII texts."

"So, Princess, I think you cracked some of my ribs and fractured my leg. I know your one arm is broke and the other dislocated. I'll pop your shoulder back in and we'll get off this roof and somewhere warm and then we'll finish patching ourselves up."

"I can do that, but don't call me Princess."

"Ok, Romanoff."

"I guess I'm rather stuck with that name now?"

"Yup- I like it. It's a good name. Strong but still nice sounding."

"Are you going to put my shoulder back in or are you going to continue philosophizing?"

"Alright alright- geez, for someone who doesn't want to be called Princess," she made a small grunt as her shoulder went back in, "You're sure bossy."

I smirk. She kinda reminds me of Arlie that way.

I'm going to take a gamble- and Arlie'll definitely help me win over Natasha Romanoff.

* * *

**September 18th, 2007**

"So you thought it would be a good idea to _bring her in_?!" I've actually never seen Fury this angry, and I've royally pissed him off a time or two in my seven years at SHIELD.

Which reminds me- the anniversary of that was coming up. I should do something with Phil.

"Yup," is my only reply. I even further push Fury over the edge by popping the "p."

I wonder if someday he might finally crack and go insane right in front of me.

If he doesn't it certainly won't be from lack of trying on my part.

Phil's next to me and I can tell he doesn't get it. He looks at her sees the Black Widow. I'm seeing Natasha Romanoff.

I saw Natasha Romanoff before she even exsisted.

But everyone else is seeing Black Widow and I could kiss Phil because while I _know_ he doesn't get it, and I _know_ he's also pretty pissed with me, he's backing me up and going head to head with Fury with me.

It was fun at first but watching that vein in Fury's head throb was only entertaining for about fifteen minutes. Now, it's worrying.

God- I hope I don't give the guy a stroke.

How old _is_ he, anyways?

Another thirty minutes and a list of all the probations I'm being put on, and Phil and I are walking out.

I haven't seen Romanoff since we arrived and I'm a bit worried what they're doing to her. I want to clear the air with Phil, but she might be in some shit because of her past.

Not everyone is so understanding of a history filled with sin.

I'm torn.

Phil solves the problem for me by pulling me into his office and shutting the door.

"What the _hell_ are you thinking? You cannot bring the _Black Widow_ into SHIELD and expect her to become an Agent! Not only that, but you disobeyed orders- you were supposed to take her out, Clint!"

"I couldn't-"

"Why the _hell_ not?"

"She's like me, and-"

"No, Clint- she is _not_ like you. Not everyone is going to want to fix things. There is _no_ _one_ like you. She is the most deadly assassin and spy the world has ever seen- you've seen the file we made- and they're making_another_ one now based on even _more_ information she's giving us! She is _dangerous_! What could've possibly possessed you!? Where did you even _get_ the idea?"

"Because you did it for me." I cut him off. I don't yell, I don't beg. I simply state it. It's not a plea for understanding, it's not a shout for acknowledgement. It's a statement. A fact.

"You did the same thing for me. I was about to put an arrow into her and I looked into her face. I recognized her. Not _her_ her, but the look she had. I _knew_ that. I _knew_ what that was like. And I knew what she really wanted. She wants oblivion, but she's terrified that there is something after this life. She is terrified of the judgment that waits to condemn her. It will take her years to get rid of that want, she will probably never get rid of that fear. But she will do whatever it takes to lessen a little bit of the list of sins she has committed and to do that- she needs somewhere to start. She needs someone to take a chance on her like you took a chance on me.

"After what you've done for me, Phil- how could I not do the same thing for her?"


	17. A Way Out

**Can I say I really like writing from Natasha's POV? Because I **_**really**_** like writing from Natasha's perspective. Anyways- some of this is in Clint's POV, but I should think it was pretty clear who is what, but if there is any confusion just review/PM me and I will clear things up and edit so no one else gets mixed up.**

**I just love the way Tasha thinks. So we're building here- the next couple chapters are really focused on building up to Clintasha and also how Tasha is going to be with Phil and Arlie (the whole family! Yay!).**

**But we're also getting into the movies now! First up is Iron Man and Hulk, which go pretty quick, but Iron Man 2 is what I'm working on now and it's FUN.**

**Please read, review, if you have requests for interludes, feel free to make them. Enjoy!**

* * *

**September 17th, 2007 (Natasha)**

"Alrie was a surprise baby- mom and dad weren't quite expecting her, but she decided to show up anyways. Can't keep her from a party," Agent Barton smirks. I'm not quite sure why this strange man is talking to me about his kid sister, but something about the obvious love and devotion pouring from him- a man who isn't so different from me, with our ledgers filled with red- inspires. It seems to redeem him; the love he has for his baby sister redeems this man of sin and I'm starting to think that maybe, if I follow him, this man specifically, not the agency he works for, I can learn how he does it and get a bit of redemption myself.

"She's a spitfire, totally crazy, too," he continues rambling about this girl, not noticing I'm even in the room at this point (a strange sensation for me: I've always been the focal point of a room)- his mind is a thousand miles away, or however far it is to the little girl that owns his heart and soul fully and keeps them safe while he smears himself with blood.

I want something like that.

* * *

**September 18th, 2007 (Clint)**

"Phil told me you did something stupid," is my sister's greeting as I limp into her apartment. She must've talked to Phil about all my injuries too because she's already moved the rugs and her shoes (which she normally leaves lying wherever she kicks them off) so the crutches won't get caught on anything and trip me up. She's also got some Ibuprofen and a glass of water sitting by my usual spot on the couch. Guess Phil told her I was refusing pain meds. Knowing Arlie, she'll nag me till I take it.

"I might've." Is my response as I settle down on the couch. She whisks the crutches away and tucks them in the closet (damn- she's good. I won't be able to move from the couch now for hours or until she gives me the damn crutches back).

"He also said it might get you killed later."

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

"I made a gamble."

"You only bet when you know you're going to win."

"Yeah."

"Good. Take the meds."

"Arlie-"

"I have pulled pork form that joint on 7th and if you want any you have to take the pill."

Damn- when _did_ she get so crafty? I should not let her and Phil talk- it's dangerous how they trade tips on how to deal with me.

* * *

**September 19nd, 2004**

After sleeping for several hours (that pill was _not_ Ibuprofen) and explaining to Arlie _exactly _what I had done, she summed it all up for me as she usually does.

"So she's dangerous. Trained to lie to people, make them believe whatever she wants, and you thought you should take her home with you?"

"You make it sound like she's a lost puppy or something."

"What about "dangerous" and "trained to lie" sounded anything remotely like a puppy?"

"I think she wants to be redeemed. She'll fight for it."

"How do you know?"

"The look in her eye- I've had it. You only get that when you're down a dark hole and you desperately want out but can't find a way. Phil saw it in me; I see it in her."

Arlie was quite for a few moments. I hated to bring that up- I know Arlie feels bad for not being there for me when I had been so lost. I also think that the next time she sees Phil she'll give him an extra-large hug without explaining why. But I needed Arlie to understand because if anyone could help me save Natasha Romanoff besides Phil, it would be my sister.

She's good at saving people.

"Do you trust her?" is what she decides to go with next.

I pause, considering that, a second, two, three; trust actually hadn't occurred to me till now and I start going over how much trust I've already given Romanoff: I've told her about Arlie, for Christ's sake (even if there is no one besides maybe Phil and Fury should could ever talk to about my sister), and that shows a level of trust from me that is unparalleled.

I couldn't quite believe I was saying it, but "Yes."

"Then so do I."

And that was the last time she argued with me over whether or not I should try and help Natasha Romanoff.

"Good- cuz I'm going to need your help."

* * *

**October 13th, 2007 (Natasha)**

The first time I set eyes on Arlie Barton, I thought _She looks like Barton_. Which was a stupid, pointless thought because _of course_ she looks like Agent Barton- they're siblings. Siblings share on average about 50% of their genetics, so they're _supposed_ to look similar. I keep my face expressionless as I watch the brother and sister greet each other. Arlie seems to be a bit miffed with Agent Barton (_Is she angry that he risked himself to bring me in?_ I seem to recall Barton mentioning Arlie refusing to work for SHIELD on that plane ride about a month ago, which tells me Arlie might not approve of Barton's career choice _at all_, let alone risking life and limb to bring the world's most deadly spy to his side) but Barton just smirks at her and pulls her into a hug. _He looks like he's holding something precious_, is my next observation of the sibling interaction. But then, I suppose, to Barton there seems to be little else in this world that is more precious than his sister. And then he's bringing the brunette towards me and my entire brain seems to freeze for a moment and my eyebrows go up a fraction of a centimeter (the most shock I've ever really allowed myself to display) because _he is letting me near his sister_. Why, why, _why_, if you have something as precious to you as his sister is to Barton, would you _ever_ let Natasha Romanoff anywhere _near_ it?

"Arlie, this is Agent Romanoff; Agent, my kid sister, Arlie."

"Oh, so you're the one causing everyone here to have heart palpitations. Good on you," the brunette girl turns to her brother, "I like her already."

"You just like her because Fury doesn't," he teases with a smirk.

"Is there a better reason?"

"Nice to meet you," I finally manage to find my voice and Arlie turns back to me.

"Is it true you almost kicked my brother's ass across the Czech Republic? Because, I'm going to be honest, I'd pay to see that."

"You _want_ to have your brother bruised and bleeding?" Barton interjects, trying to look wounded. It fails due to the huge smirk on his face.

"No- but you humiliated sounds fun."

"Alright- what do you say, Romanoff: care for a sparring match to entertain the masses?" he turns to look at me with a smirk and there is a lingering sparkle in his eyes from looking at his sister that I can't help but marvel at._How must it feel to have a sparkle like that directed at you?_ Looking at the girl, and judging by the way she seems to float on air with her brother beside her, I can only assume it's one of the best feelings in the world.

"Sounds fine. Would you like to spar now?"

"Nah- let's get some grub in the muchkin," he smirks as his sister manages to interject a "hey!" "first. Would you like to join us, Agent?"

"No, I wouldn't want to impose."

"Don't be stupid," and I almost let my shock be seen again. No one has dared call me stupid without intent to kill me later since I became the Black Widow. To have a young girl say it with a bounce and a smile is _severely_off putting. Maybe the complete disregard Barton had shown for his safety by opting to rescue the Black Widow of all people is genetic. _Must be in that 50%_. "Clint's always boring during lunch cuz he's too busy stuffing his face. And this way I can give you loads of embarrassing stories about him!" And then I am truly shocked (enough for my eyebrows to dart up a full inch), because this 5 foot, petite, brunette whirl wind of a girl grabs me- the most dangerous person in SHIELD, trained since childhood to kill, maim, torture, and deceive- by the arm and pulls me towards the food line. I turn to look over at Barton and he has a look on his face that says "yeah, she does that. Weird, isn't she?" while at the same time displaying the most intense look of pride I've ever seen. Suddenly, I find myself in line for some stir fry as the girl chats my ear off about this and that (no embarrassing stories about Barton, despite her previous threats) and continues to maintain the grip on my arm. And I have the sudden realization that no one has touched me outside a fight or without my being undercover for _years_.

I let Arlie do whatever she wants and only beat up Agent Barton a little in the sparring match- while Arlie claps on the sidelines.

* * *

**October 30th, 2007**

Agent Phil Coulson sighs as I finish up another training test.

"I hate to say it- but you could teach Clint a thing or two about being an Agent."

I was brought into SHIELD at full Agent status (I think they just didn't want to risk insulting me by putting me with the Trainees) so I have an odd combination of learning everything about SHIELD but also being one of its top Agents.

"Is that because you trained Agent Barton yourself?" I ask.

He smirks a little, "Well, it's certainly part of it. Also- I'm used to bragging rights about having recruited SHIELD's best Agent. Means I get some nice perks and Fury doesn't argue with me as much."

I'm not quite sure what Agent Coulson feels towards me. Sometimes he seems to have a sort of sympathy for me, and other times he only tolerates me and it's clear it's for Agent Barton's sake.

Their relationship is an interesting one to examine, and I have a lot of time to since Barton is stuck filling out paperwork and doing odd jobs since he's been on probation for bringing me in.

He's taken a huge risk and I hope I can somehow repay him- I owe him a huge debt.

But Phil Coulson and Clint Barton are a strange combination of father and son, brothers, and best friends. Add Arlie into the mix and they are quite the trio.

Arlie. Barton's little sister insists I call her by her first name and refuses to let anything else be used. Her brother sometimes calls her "munchkin," but he seems to be the only one allowed to give her a nickname.

Fury calls her "Miss Barton," and she doesn't stop him. There is a lot of tension there.

It entertains me that both Arlie and Fury seem to both consider the girl the winner of whatever contest they are having.

SHIELD may not be a home, but it's good enough for me. The other Agents and employees of SHIELD avoid me. They all fear me and I'm perfectly OK with that- I do not want their companionship or their mocking. Barton seems to get both.

There are some Agents who clearly like and respect Barton- they aren't friends, but they are polite and considerate. There are others who disdain him for his past and they mock him behind his back or even in the same room as him. He ignores them and sometimes seems outright entertained by them. Others treat him with a certain degree of fear- he is SHIELD's top Agent and a man with a lot of ways to kill someone.

They are perhaps the wisest of the three groups.

I don't know much about Agent Barton's past- he hasn't revealed much to me other than he knows what my position feels like. I'm not sure how, but I do believe him. He wouldn't be able to know just what to say and what to do if he didn't know the dark place I was in very well.

Sometimes it feels like a labyrinth that is pitch black. I'm usually stumbling through it with my hands fumbling along the walls seeking the next turn. But I'm never sure if I should take it or not- what if the exit is just up ahead? What if the exit is around this corner? What if this labyrinth _has_ no exit?

But Clint Barton is a guide that comes when I begin to get hopelessly lost and points me in a direction. He doesn't give me all the answers, no one has them, but he helps me get closer to the exit that we both hope is there. And I trust him more than anyone- and I can count the number of people I trust on one hand and still have fingers left over- so I follow his directions and let him lead me.

Arlie Barton is standing at the exit- on the other side of it. And she is a voice that calls to everyone trapped in the labyrinth to follow the sound of it and assures anyone within hearing that, yes, this labyrinth of hopeless guilt and painful pasts has an exit- a way out. Sometimes her voice is taken and lost on the wind, but she screams and shouts when she begins to think you might be losing your way until you can hear her once again. And sometimes she sings.

* * *

**November 10th, 2007**

I didn't realize how much I missed Russia until Arlie Barton helped me feel more at home.

"I'm hungry. You hungry?" she asked one day while her brother was filling out some paperwork in the park with the two of us on either side of him. Arlie was tanning and I was wondering what to do with myself- I was not used to free time, so I have a tendency of following Barton or his sister around and let them guide me in this new and different world filled with New York, SHIELD, and their companionship.

"Arlie- I'm _always_-" Barton began before his sister cut him off.

"Not _you_, bird brain- Natasha- I _have_ noticed how you're always hungry- so I was asking the normal person if she was as well."

_I'm a "normal person"?_

"I guess so," I say, shrugging lightly. I was trained to go for days without food if necessary, hunger was nothing to me.

"Well, come on," she jumps up and begins walking, "I found this new restaurant that I want to try and since Natasha is with us we can!"

"What- you need three people to go there or something?" asks her brother has he closes up the file and begins to follow his sister.

"No- just come see. It's a surprise for Natasha."

"A surprise for me?"

"Yes- you'll see."

"Just go along with it," Barton whispers to me, "She likes to surprise people. Hasn't quite realized surprising spies and assassins might not be the best idea. She's the only one who could ever get away with it."

I nod and follow the younger Barton as she walks a few blocks, practically skipping.

"Ta da!" she finally cries, standing in front of a small dingy building that clearly had seen better days. I was skeptical until I smelled what was wafting out from the doorway.

_Borsch, Stroganoff, Tea Cakes, Pirozhki, Halupki, Solianka_

I wanted to cry because I suddenly realized just how much I missed Russia. I couldn't quite go back there with the Red Room. But here was this dingy building: a little slice of home.

I could kiss Arlie Barton.

We walk in and Arlie begins talking in her usual way.

"It's owned by some Russian immigrants and while they _do_ speak English, it's not the best- better if you can order in Russian. That's why we needed Natasha with us. Plus, I figured she might want some home cooking after all that crap SHIELD feeds you. Not everyone has your iron stomach, Clint. Now, Natasha, I haven't tried a lot of Russian food so could you tell me what I should try? We can order a whole bunch of stuff- anything I don't like and you don't want to eat we can guarantee the human garbage disposal over there will finish. Clint's treat!" she declares, clapping her hands together. The owner of the restaurant comes forward and starts speaking in very broken English. When I begin conversing in Russian with her she practically beams and gives us the best table in the house.

I notice Clint swoop Arlie up into a big hug and pretend I don't know that Arlie contrived this whole thing for my benefit.

It does give me a warm, bubbling feeling that I can't remember ever having.

By the end of the evening we've consumed an obscene amount of food and I'm feeling better about SHIELD and New York and I quite understand why Clint adores his sister so very much.

She's a special sort of person to see past all our sins and blood to laugh with the best parts of us.


	18. Gunpowder and Citrus

**Whew- I'm just really on a roll with these chapters! We get to the Clintasha in this chapter (yay! I meant to drag it out more, but I like it too much).**

**So read, review, if you have an interludes request, ask and you shall receive. Enjoy!**

* * *

**December 25th, 2007 (Clint)**

It's Christmas and Phil, Arlie, and I are in her apartment as usual. What's unusual is that Arlie has made absolutely sure that Natasha is there and that there are several Russian dishes for everyone to eat.

Phil's grown to accept Tasha and Arlie's got her wrapped around her finger (just like everyone else) and I am beginning to feel really and truly proud of myself- because Natasha Romanoff is healing from her past slowly but surely and at a rate I only achieved once I got Arlie back.

I think I've done a good thing here.

And Phil's proud of me. He said so. Several times. Especially after that last mission- the first one I was allowed on since Natasha joined SHIELD, and Fury, trying to punish me a bit more or perhaps prove me wrong, teamed me up with Tasha.

He knows I hate working with people.

But working with Romanoff was easy and simple and it was _fun_.

It was the most successful mission I've ever had and Phil was practically beaming when we got back.

Natasha asked what all the fuss was about and I laughed.

Oh yeah- I do not mind partners as long as it's Natasha Romanoff.

Besides the way I figure it, I was the first person to ever set eyes on Natasha Romanoff- so I've got dibs.

Arlie is in her usual Christmas tizzy- she's such a nut about the whole holiday but she's got an infections joy and even Tasha is smiling (the Nat version of a smile, anyways) while she sips her eggnog. Presents are exchanged and gifts are unwrapped and Arlie is practically radiating joy. Tasha is also happy, but it's a quiet, calm version to Arlie's whirl wind exuberance. Phil's got his usual fatherly affection and I'm chuckling from Arlie and Tasha tag teaming with each other and bouncing wit back and forth.

I'm pretty sure this is what I was looking for when I began that search for redemption. I'm far from making up for everything I've done, but if this isn't what forgiveness feels like- I don't know it.

* * *

**December 28th, 2007**

It was a bad day for Natasha- I was quite certain of that when she walked into my room at SHIELD's headquarters.

Her hair was not in it's typical curly disarray and I knew at this point that the only way it got in this particular type of mess was if she had been pulling at it. She only did that when no one could see and when it was a _really_bad day. And it took a _really bad day_ for Natasha Romanoff to literally start pulling her hair.

"I don't get it," she said as she huffed and paced back and forth in front of me.

"Then I probably don't, either," was my reply as I shoved some paperwork off to the side. I know I'm the only person Natasha really has in SHIELD- she's not quite able to connect to Phil the same way I am and Arlie is so far removed from the bloody parts of our lives sometimes it's difficult for Natasha, someone raised with this blood constantly staining all the corners of her existence, to relate to my sister, even if they are both girls and get along great.

"No- it's you. I don't get _you_!"

This I was not expecting, and I'm more than a little confused. I'm sure Arlie or Tasha would completely understand that statement, roll their eyes, and say either "_It's this- duh, bird brain_," or "_It's quite simple, Barton, really, it's just this_." But Arlie is not here and Tasha was the one who produced that confounding statement so the best response I've got is:

"Huh?"

"Why did you help me?"

"I told you-"

"Yes, yes, you know what it was to be there- you know that- and I see that, I _get_ that, but why _me_?"

Ah- so that was the problem. The problem for me was I had no idea how to articulate what Tasha needed to hear.

"There are plenty of people in this world that life has treated horribly. There are plenty of trapped people. There are so many more deserving people to be saved than me. _So why me_?"

And she stops her pacing and sits on my cot and _stares_ at me. Her eyes do not move from my face as she waits for the answer she desperately needs in order to make some sort of peace with this world she's now in.

"I know why, I'm just not quite sure how to explain it," is what I begin with, a plead for patience as I try to sort out this tangle of words and feelings and gut instincts.

"I've told you most of my past since you came here, but I know nothing about yours other than you were in a fire where your parents died when you were about five years old. I could've read the file SHIELD made for you, but I decided not to. It's your past and if you want to tell me or not it's fine either way. But as for why you- that's just it. It's not about your past really, or who is deserving, or who is trapped. I was about to shoot you and…hm…I'm sorry- I'm trying to explain it but I don't know how."

It's my turn to pace now as I seek the words I need. Tasha remains absolutely still except to move her head and eyes slightly to keep me within her vision.

"It's because you're Nat, I guess," is what I finally settle on, "You're Nat, and I'm Clint, and Arlie's Arlie and Phil's Phil. I just looked at you and recognized something in you that was similar to something in me. I also recognized a lot of things I don't have in me but wish I did or things I used to have but don't have anymore. I recognized every inch of you and the only thing I could think to do was to talk to you about redemption. Because you needed it. Because, I guess, I kind of needed it too."

She scowled at me, "That still doesn't make sense."

"I'm sorry- it's the best I can do."

"I know, but I don't get it."

I shrug, "Talk to Arlie or Phil. They can usually explain why I do what I do better than me."

* * *

**December 31st, 2007**

Phil hands me a beer and I settle down next to the meat lover's pizza at SHIELD base. Natasha primly sniffs the pizza and then scowls. She sits next to me gracefully and takes the beer Phil offers her while watching the TV.

Arlie's out with some friends but the party is comfortable despite missing her and I'm stuck on something she said a few days ago when I took Tasha to see her to help her "get" it. The two of them had declared it a girl's day (or Arlie did) and kicked me out and said they'd call me when they wanted me. I was asked to return several hours later and Tasha seemed in a better frame of mind. Arlie had said she and Tasha had talked about a lot of things: Tasha's past (Arlie said she might have cried for it all, but Tasha needed to tell me that on her own), Arlie's thoughts on me and why I do what I do, and, apparently, different movies Tasha needs to see ("She hasn't seen _the Godfather_, Clint, we need to _help her_."). And then after Tasha had hugged (yes, _hugged_) my sister and went to the car, Arlie had said a few things to me, mostly reminders to do this or that, and then remarked:

"_God, bird brain- could you be any more in love?"_

Am I? I look over at Nat sitting next to me and think a little more.

I've known her for over four months now (and they were some interesting four months where we spent most of our time together and trained for life-and-death situations), and I would say she is one of my best friends. She's my partner and someone I've trusted implicitly from the moment I met her- with my life, my chance at redemption, my sister. I understand her and she understands me better than anyone else. Is that love?

I wasn't sure.

I knew what love felt like- I mean, I love Arlie with everything in me. She's my little sister, the person who I'd do anything for.

I love Phil too- he's like the father I missed out on for all these years and the brother that Barney should have been all wrapped into one conviction-filled man.

Nat I knew I loved. But was it the way Arlie was thinking?

I don't know.

"You gonna eat all that pizza?" asks Phil, "Cuz you know Tasha won't eat any of it, and I've had my fill."

"You doubt me?" I scoff, "Besides- Tasha has to have at least one slice. She's refused it every time up until now and you've got to open up the New Year right- try something new, Tasha. You might like it!"

"It does not look appetizing."

"Come on! Trust me." I lift a slice and wave it in front of her face. Her nose crinkles and her eyes practically cross as she watches the slice wave back and forth. I vaguely hear the countdown begin for the New Year.

She leans forward and takes one Nat-sized bite.

* * *

**January 1st, 2008**

Well, damn. Arlie was right.

* * *

**January 15th, 2008**

We're in Tanzania and she gets shot.

I have never been more frightened in my life.

I'm giving her battle field first aid and running to an extraction point at the same time. And I am praying to any deity that might exist that she won't die.

We're out of the fire fight that had been sparked by our target's death- but we knew it was a possibility. We also knew one of us getting injured was a possibility.

That does not mean I was in any way prepared for it to become a reality.

I'm trying to stop her from losing blood long enough for some doctors to get to her and stitch her up but SHIELD has never seemed so far away and my hands are shaking.

New plan.

I pick her up and she whimpers from the movement jostling her. I carry her to the nearest sign of civilization and pray for a Doctor there.

There is one, but he's not quite sure he wants to help us as I lie to him about us being a couple on vacation- we wanted to tour every country in alphabetical order and I started listing other countries beginning with T and ones that begin with S in an attempt to convince him and something in my horrible fear and utter incoherency must have convinced him because he begins to operate.

His frowns and his pinched looks of worry do not encourage me.

Death is practically a tangible presence in the room and I am suddenly remembering a thousand poems and lines Nat has recited while on missions and I wish I could find one to say for her but all I can come up with is "You can't take her yet. We're not ready."

She pulls through and I get her back to SHIELD and the doctors there finish fixing her up and that night I sneak her out of medical and over to Arlie's.

I spend the entire time sleeping in a chair next to the bed on the off chance she needs me.

I have never been more relieved in my life.

* * *

**February 3rd, 2008**

I'm fairly certain Nat knows how I feel.

Of course she does, though. I was an idiot to ever think she wouldn't know.

Not only is she trained to detect every single micro expression on a person's face to the point where it's second nature to her, to the point where she can't _not_ notice them, but she's also been one of the people who knows me best.

Which means I can hide nothing from Natasha Romanoff.

I'm not quite sure what I expected her to do when I saw the realization spread across her face (I've gotten good at reading micro expressions too), but the small smile she gives is by far the best thing she could have done.

It was small, it was sincere, it was happy, and it was her.

So, she loves me too.

_That's a nice feeling._

We don't really do anything about it- Nat and I both have more issues than most magazines, and Tasha is not in any place to even admit she _likes_ me, let alone _loves_ me. I expect she's probably going to talk to Arlie about it, simply because it seems she talks to Arlie about everything (though I get the sneaking suspicion it's more Nat saying a few sentences and Arlie figuring out the rest on her own and talking Tasha through it).

But I have untold amounts of patience. I can sit on a roof for uncounted hours in every kind of weather to wait for one single opportunity to shoot one single arrow.

I can wait for Nat to get her head together.

Besides, there's a lot we need to talk about before those words are ever hinted at. It's enough that she didn't freak out when she realized how _I_ felt. It's enough for the two of us to know.

So nothing really changes except for a certain understanding between Nat and me.

* * *

**April 5th, 2008**

"You are a year away from three decades," my sister informs me as I chow down on the quadruple chocolate cake she has agreed to make me for my birthday every year now for the rest of eternity. My sister grins like a goof ball and teases, "You're an old man."

"Speaking as someone older than all of you," Phil chimes in, "I resent that. He's really only just getting into adulthood, if you ask me."

Arlie rolls her eyes and pokes Phil while saying, "Old man old man old man old man."

"Ok ok ok- I'm old. I can still work though, so don't put me in the retirement home just yet, please."

Arlie just grins.

"We should add another date to celebrate," she says, and the three of us turn to look at her.

"The day Tasha joined us," she says, as if it were obvious.

"Really?" asks Tasha, before she could control herself into her usual stoicism.

"Duh," Arlie adds another eye roll, "It was a great day for all of us, and it gives me another excuse to make Russian food."

"And cake?" I ask.

"I guess I can make cake, but Tasha gets to choose what kind- it's her day."

"No fair- I was there too. I convinced her to join!"

"So? It's Tasha's day. You have your own day. Phil has his day, I have my day, Tasha deserves her own day."

"Thank you, Arlie. Quadruple chocolate cake would be just fine."

I knew there was a reason I loved that woman.

"I'll make something else too. I'm not sure the rest of us can handle that much chocolate twice a year."

That night on the balcony of Arlie's apartment while she and Phil argue and do dishes inside, I wrap my arms around Nat and hold her against me. She lets me with the silent agreement that this is just for now, in honor of all the day has accomplished (Nat getting that warm, bubbly feeling from Arlie announcing she gets her own day), and we won't speak of it again. She smells like gunpowder and citrus and I smile into her hair.

"Best birthday I've ever had, hands down."

"Yeah?"

"No contest."


	19. Interlude: Ice Cream

**And we have an interlude- this is Arlie talking to Tasha that day when Tasha was upset because she didn't "get" it. And it's also Arlie realizing Clintasha is a thing and messing with her brother's mind (I have a brother, and I can guarantee you, if I ever am in a similar situation, I would do the exact same thing).**

**So here we have our fourth Interlude- read, review, and if you want another interlude, ask and you shall receive.**

* * *

**December 28th, 2007 (Arlie)**

It's not every day that Clint shows up on my doorstep with Tasha without calling first. It's also not every day that Tasha is the one to begin the conversation.

I'm not surprised that instead of saying "hello" or anything normal like that she breaks out into a direct assessment of what the problem that brought them to me is.

"I don't get it."

I take a moment to absorb that particular phrase. Clint looks at a loss and Tasha looks annoyed and agitated. If it was something cultural or a SHIELD thing, they wouldn't have come to me. Clint can explain or Phil could. It could be a girl thing, but I doubt that because then Clint would look a _lot_ more awkward and besides, I think Tasha's sorted all that out before she ever met us.

Ah- something about why Tasha is getting a second chance, then.

"Come in. Clint- it's a girl's day, you can come back when we call you."

I then slam the door in my brother's face after grabbing Tasha and pulling her into the room.

"Lemme guess- why you get a second chance?" I ask as I head to the kitchen. This requires ice cream.

"I don't understand- out of everyone he could have saved- why _me_?"

I grab the whole tub of mint chocolate chip from the freezer and skip the bowls. I grab two spoons and sit on the couch. Tasha gracefully folds herself next to me. I really need to figure out how she moves that gracefully- it's seriously impressive.

"Eat up. You need to understand something about my brother. He desperately wants to be redeemed. He thinks he never will fully get there but if he works hard enough he might just stumble into an opportunity that will wipe the slate clean. Well- in the back of his mind he thinks that, he tries not to dwell on it because he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Anyways- Phil always talks about conviction- it's his thing. Clint talks about redemption.

"So you see, it's not so much about _you_ as it is about _Clint_."

"So I have nothing to do with it?"

"No- you have everything to do with it."

"I don't understand."

"Eat some of the ice cream- it helps."

"You've made that up."

"You're eating it anyways."

"Explain to me again."

"OK- listen. It's Clint and you- that's why you've got this chance. It's not just you, and it's not just Clint. Now, my brother- he's done bad things. A lot of them. And so, to him, practically everyone in comparison is innocent and better than him. He puts himself on the bottom totem pole."

"I don't understand that expression."

"In this circumstance it means he considers himself lower than everyone else. With the exception of a few people- those who hurt people for the fun of it. My brother does not consider them worth saving. Everyone else- he will save them if he can. Because he thinks he will never get his redemption, but he will go out of his way to make sure everyone else does. He saves people because Phil saved him- and he is frightened by what he could've become if Phil had never done that, and he doesn't want anyone else to have to continue down a road they don't want to be on. So he saves them. He saves people every day. Phil once showed me this file that Clint had asked him to keep- it's a list of all of Clint's good deeds. It's got stuff like taking out a human trafficker of children, and then it's also got stuff like convincing the woman at the market that she deserves more than her husband who beats her." I pause here, so beyond proud of my brother for that particular good deed. It hits close to home and I'm glad that even if I couldn't have had Clint beside me during that time in my life to help me, someone else did.

"So he saved me because he wants redemption?"

"Partially. And here's where you come into it. See- with Clint, there very rarely is one specific reason for doing things. There's usually quite a few that build up into one massive decision. Now my brother could've been you if he wasn't saved by Phil when he was. He recognized something in you he has and is trying to overcome. And he knows what it's like.

"So because you needed help, because he wants to give it, because you're capable of accepting it and giving everything to it, because of a whole lot of small things that added up into a big thing, my brother wants to save you."

"That makes sense."

"It does doesn't it?"

"Why couldn't Barton explain that?"

"He doesn't really examine his thought process, he kinda just goes with it lots of times."

"That's stupid."

"That's my brother."

We both shrug.

"It's just," she pauses. "I've done really unspeakable things."

"So has Clint."

"But I've done more."

"After a certain point, I think the actual numbers become meaningless."

"The numbers are never meaningless."

"Alright. But the thing is- I saw it. The article about the fire you were in as a kid."

"I don't really remember it. Or my parents."

I nod. I was expecting this. I had gotten something and was planning on saving it for Tasha's day- I knew she wouldn't have felt comfortable celebrating her actual birthday, so I thought the day Natasha Romanoff came into existence (with more than a little help from my brother) was a better day to celebrate. But this sounded like a better time to give it.

She needed it.

"Here," I hand her a small envelope. It's a pale pink and I've written "Natasha" on it. She opens it up and pulls out the single photograph inside.

It's the picture of her with her parents that we got from the article. I'd had it digitally enhanced and enlarged slightly. It looked good and I didn't bother putting it in a frame- this wasn't a photo to be displayed, it's meant for Tasha to keep close, as secret as everything else in her life is. Tasha stares at it for a long time before I break the silence.

"You're so focused on who you were as the Black Widow. So focused on the assassin part of you, you seem to think the part of you that was that little girl in the picture is gone. She's not. She's buried pretty deep, but she's still there. I'm not saying you've got to pull her out and let her become your life- that's stupid. But just like being the Black Widow will always be a part of you, being Natasha Romanova, daughter of Andrey and Katya Romanova, will also always be there."

"Ballet."

"Huh?"

"I used to dance with my mother- and she taught me ballet. I'd forgotten that. I wanted to be a ballerina when I was growing up, before I realized that being in the Black Widow program meant I wouldn't get the chance to be. But I'd forgotten that it was my mother who started teaching me. They used to give us ballet lessons in the Red Room, part of our training. Ballet teaches you a lot of things: grace, strength, endurance, how to stand up against pain. It's an art and a physical expression- just how they wanted us to turn the physical act of killing into an art."

I'm sitting beside Tasha, the ice cream sitting between us, forgotten. I let her talk. I know that with Clint it often helps him to just talk aloud and having someone in the room, listening without judgment, helps him let things go and heal. The wounds may scab and scar, but I can help stop the bleeding.

"I was taken from the fire- I know that. I was trained by a man who had me call him Uncle Ivan. He trained me and about twenty other girls as part of the Black Widow program. It was meant to help restore the glory of Soviet Russia- the Black Widow was to kill those who would stop us. The only way to graduate was to kill the others. When I was thirteen I killed the last girl and became the Black Widow. I was sent on my first mission within a month. Uncle Ivan was so proud of me, and I thought he loved me.

"He gave me dollhouses and toys when I was very little, spent extra time with me, training. I was his protégé. But I was his pet, not his niece."

"What happened?"

"When I was nineteen I found my file. I just paged through it, not thinking there would be anything there shocking. It was my file, after all. I was waiting for Uncle Ivan in his room so he could tell me the next mission. I found out that the fire in my parent's home was set by the Red Room, so they could kill my father, who spoke out against Sovietism, and when I survived Uncle Ivan thought I would be a perfect, and ironic, edition to the program. He went on for pages on how _wonderful_ he found it to convert someone with the blood of an anti-communist to his star pupil for the Soviet cause. But that wasn't the end- it turns out they had been pumping me full of drugs, slipped into the food, for my whole life. They'd added things to make me stronger and smarter, but also things to make me more willing to follow orders. They made it so the chemicals in me would keep me from questioning them.

"I've had horrible things done to me by them; things I knew were wrong and hurtful. But it wasn't until I _saw_ the truth about my parents and the treatments- there, in my Uncle's handwriting- that it all came to me and I realized: if Uncle Ivan loved me like he said he did, he would have _never_ allowed this to happen to me.

"I killed him. He walked into the room, I stood there with the file in one hand and a knife in another and I killed him. Then I burned the entire complex to the ground.

"For weeks afterward I went through withdraw from the drugs- I had had them in my system for years. I came close to dying several times. I took jobs- contracts- because I couldn't think what else to do. I bought drugs I hoped were similar to what had been given me in hopes to help abate the symptoms and wean myself off. It took years. I was sick, I was miserable, everything I had believed in turned out to be a lie and now, with the drugs leaving my system, I questioned everything.

"I couldn't remember so many things from before the fire," she said softly, a finger lightly touching the photo- as if afraid the blood on her hands would cause it to wither and crumble away. I was struggling not to cry. Tasha had been through so much- more than anyone should ever go through. And I was hoping what I was reading between the lines wasn't true and I was wrong.

I didn't think I was.

The ice cream was melted.

"I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse."

"I don't understand."

"It's a _Godfather_ quote."

"What does your godfather have to do with this?"

"Not _my_ godfather- _the_ Godfather. It's a movie. We'll watch it some other time. Catch you up on some American culture. But anyways- the quote was to lighten things up but since that didn't work I'm just going to go ahead with the plan. The offer you can't refuse is this: we're going to make some food. Actually, lots of food, and we're going to talk. We're going to try and sort this out into something more manageable and eat an unhealthy amount while doing it. Then we'll call my brother and you two can go back to SHIELD and I'll see you this Sunday like we planned. Got it?"

She nodded.

"Good. And we're also going to compile a list of movies you need to see because, seriously, you'll _love_ the _Godfather_."

We didn't fix anything. There was nothing we _could_ do to fix any of Tasha's past. The only way to fix it would've been to take a time machine and stop it from happening. But we helped stop the bleeding. And we organized it so the information, all of it, was a bit easier to deal with.

I called Clint and told him to come pick up Tasha so she wouldn't have to walk to SHIELD. But it was when he saw her at the door that things got interesting. He looked her over quickly like he was checking for injuries. It was something I had seen him do a thousand times to me and to Phil. He then focused on her eyes as if he could assess her emotional state from looking. I suddenly realized he probably could. Tasha was hard to read for the rest of us, but Clint _got_ her.

Well, look at that. My brother's in love.

With Tasha.

I'm trying really hard not to laugh at this point as Tasha walks out with her usual elegance after giving me a hug (Well, now I feel special) and my brother watches her go as if waiting to see if she might need help.

God, he's so hopeless.

I talk to my brother and he gives me all his attention the way he normally does and I'm relieved. Love won't change who my brother is- and really, I think he doesn't even realize it yet.

Time to mess with his mind.

"God, bird brain- could you be any more in love?"

I don't expound on that statement, I just give him a quick kiss on the cheek and hug goodbye and shut my door (once again) in his face. The look of shock and confusion was priceless. I'm struggling to breathe, I'm laughing so hard. This promises to be very interesting. Because I know something else no one knows.

Tasha's in love with him too.


	20. Still With Her

**So it's been brought to my attention that if Arlie becomes romantically involved (or however you want to say it) with another Avenger we get to see Clint have a Big Brother Freak Out (yes- that needed to be capitalized). I'm evil and think that sounds delightful, so I'm thinking either Bruce (which I am leaning towards) or Steve (which I could potentially like) and I put the question to you all. Review if you have some thoughts you'd like to share- I'll be also putting a poll up so take a vote if you'd like to share your opinion but don't really feel like expanding on it.**

**Now onto this chapter: we're getting into the movies now- Iron Man and Hulk are both mentioned in here and since it's not explicitly clear in the movieverse the precise order in which everything happens (not that I've noticed at least), I'm kind of just going off of the release dates for the movies. We're getting closer and closer to the BIG ONE, guys! Super excited.**

**So please read, review, if you have an interludes request just ask me and I'll get it in the works. Thank you to all the fabulous people who have reviewed, favorited, followed, ect. You're all wonderful.**

* * *

**May 2nd, 2008 (Clint)**

"Well, that was unexpected," Tasha comments dryly from her seat on the couch as we watch Tony Stark announce to the world that he's the mysterious (and ostentatious) Iron Man.

"Didn't Phil say he had a whole alibi worked out for that guy?" Arlie asks with an eyebrow raised. "That's annoying. Phil worked hard on that."

"He's going to make things difficult," is my comment. "Now everyone's going to want one of those damn suits and I'll bet you any amount of money he's not going to tell a soul how to build one just to watch everyone dance."

"Be fair- he's probably got some PTSD from that whole thing," Arlie chimes in, waving her hands around, "And while I'm not saying that is an excuse," she pauses, "Actually, yes, I am. And it's a damn good excuse too. If I was him I wouldn't tell anybody anything."

"Please- he's on a power trip from it."

"I don't know," says Tasha slowly, as if thinking hard.

"What do you mean? He's the most narcissistic man in the world. It's a proven fact!"

"She means that lots of times people use confidence as a smoke screen for fears of inadequacy. I mean," Arlie shrugs, "I know I've done it."

"Really?"

"I mean, it's on a significantly smaller scale, but I can remember moving to a new Foster home and having to start in a new school where everyone already knew each other and everyone knew _just_ what I was. By time I was thirteen I was acting like a bad ass just to hide how terrified I was."

"Bad ass?"

"I let them all believe the stereotype. And before you ask- no, I did not do drugs or rob liquor stores or whatever sort of horrors you're imagining. I'd've told you already if I did."

"That's true, you did tell me about your hacking the police to ensure that that one cop got caught."

"I'm sorry, but taking bribes is just low."

"I'm confused," says Tasha, looking between the two of us.

"I'll explain later," says Arlie with a wave of her hand.

"Ok ok. I'm calm. But _really_? You two think _Tony Stark_- genius billionaire playboy philanthropist- is covering up for insecurities?"

"He's doing a good job if he is, I'll give you that," says Tasha.

"But, I mean, yeah, he's a genius, but you know that just being smarter does not make you happier. In fact, it often gets in your way. I can't tell you how many people got uncomfortable around me in college just because I was top of the class," Arlie starts warming up to her subject. "Billionaire? Isn't there some sort of canned saying about money not meaning happiness? And playboy? He's alone. His parents died when he was a kid, it doesn't sound like he really has anyone reliably by his side. No siblings," _And there it is_- my sister's totally got me believing her now. I know what it's like to not have siblings and also not have anyone else- it was horrible. And suddenly I feel a bit bad for Tony Stark- genius billionaire playboy damn philanthropist. "And philanthropy…well I don't really have anything to add with that other than it's a good thing to do."

"Ok- you've got me listening. I'm not saying I _agree_- but I wouldn't be totally shocked."

"It's between the lines, Clint. I know you're good at seeing from a distance, bird brain, but Tasha and I can read between the lines better than you."

"Yeah yeah. And- hey- for the "bird brain" comment."

"Shut up and find something good to watch."

"Ok, munchkin. Cool your jets."

"Phil will be excited," is Tasha's comment now that the sibling spat is over.

"What do you mean?" asks Arlie. "Stark totally ignored Phil and ditched the alibi."

"Well, it's still a superhero. He can start that project he's been talking Fury's ear off about."

"The initiative? Phil's _baby_? You think Tony Stark'll be a part of that?" I ask. "But he's so…"

"Let's not judge, please," says Arlie, sighing.

"Oh, be quiet, I'm just saying- I'm not sure the guy is a team player."

Simultaneously Arlie and Tasha look pointedly at me. Then Arlie begins to giggle hysterically and Tasha rolls her eyes.

"Oh, _come on_- Arlie, Tasha- it's _completely_ different!"

My sister manages to squeeze a sentence in between her giggles, "Sure, sure, Clint. You tell yourself that. If it makes you feel better."

I look to Nat for help, but she just rolls her eyes and smirks at me.

Why do I ever think introducing my sister to people is a good idea? She's a _terrible_ influence.

* * *

**June 13th, 2008**

"Oh my god," my sister says as she turns on the TV.

"What?" I ask from her kitchen. I'm putting some groceries that I bought for her away and we were planning on watching _the Goonies_ before I headed back to base when Arlie turned on the news briefly.

"Clint, you're never going to believe this."

"What is it?"

"Come look because you'll never believe me if I tell you!"

I enter the living room and my jaw drops at what's shown on the TV screen.

"Where is that?"

"Harlem," my sister replies.

"OK- we should probably get you out of New York- there's no telling where those- whatever those things are- will go next."

"Everything's going to be shut down- it's best just to stay here and move into Harlem if they try coming near here. Hopefully they wouldn't go back to somewhere already…crushed."

"Right, good thinking," I mutter as I sit next to her on the couch. We're in a shocked silence as a giant green monster smashes through Harlem in battle with another, even bigger, creature. My phone rings.

"Barton."

"Hawk- you watching this?"

"Yeah, anything SHIELD wants me to do?"

"No- stay where you are. Secure the area try and keep people safe but no flashing the badge. Just exercise precaution."

"Will do, Phil."

"You good?"

"Yeah- it's all fine here, Phil."

My sister turns to me and mouths, "safe" with some raised eyebrows I nod to her before asking Phil.

"You and Tasha aren't in Harlem are you?"

"No we're at the base monitoring things, trying to keep the whole city from panicking. SHIELD's gathering information on just want exactly is happening. Apparently, the…um…green one? Is a Doctor Bruce Banner who was experimenting with radiation gamma waves in an attempt to replicate the Super Serum used on Captain Rodgers."

"I'm gonna guess it wasn't successful," I say after nodding to Arlie. She relaxes knowing Phil and Tasha are safe before grabbing her own phone to check up on some friends.

"Evidently not. We're not sure who the other…one…is. There's a General Ross involved somehow- we're going to be pretty busy here with the army trying to get in our way and pretend they haven't majorly screwed up. Get back to base soon as you can- it's going to be a crazy couple days till we get this sorted."

"Ok. I should be there once I check the area for security. See you in a few, Phil."

"Be quick, Barton." We hung up.

"Arlie- I gotta go back to base."

"I figured," she tells me. "I'll be careful and I can take care of anyone else in the building. You go do your job and I'll do what we talked about- going to Harlem if they come near here."

"Ok-good. Be careful!" I say as I shut her front door behind me. I wait a few moments till I hear her lock it (and knock on the door a few times to let me know she knows I'm out there) and then go on my way.

SHIELD is going to be insane.

First freaking Iron Man and now giant smashing monsters.

What the hell is next?

* * *

**June 21st, 2008**

Watching Fury attempt to work with General Ross to find Bruce Banner is one of the most entertaining things I've ever seen.

Mostly because after about five minutes of conversation with the man it's clear that Fury will not be helping Ross if he can manage it.

I sit in the rafters above the main room and watch as Ross makes a lot of noise and Fury holds his breath in an attempt to preserve peace between SHIELD and the army.

I have no such interest and freely start laughing. Fortunately for me, I'm more of a chuckler by nature so Ross doesn't hear me past his ranting and if Fury hears he ignores me.

I can tell Phil hears me based on how he sighed and shook his head slightly when I started.

After another five minutes even I'm not laughing and I think we're all a little offended by Ross's presence. Phil artfully leads him out of the room and gets the man to leave while laying the foundation for future non-help in the form of help.

Fury begins yelling at Hill to keep that man of "my _goddamn_ base if you have to strap a _nuke_ to him and send his _ass_ out of the _country_!"

I'm back to being entertained.

Nat sneaks up next to me and settles herself down beside me. She rolls her eyes at my humor but I see a slight lift in the corner of her mouth.

I'm getting scary good at reading her.

"General Ross not an acceptable edition to the team?" she says softly.

"No- he's not really an acceptable edition to humanity, but," I shrug, "he hasn't done anything illegal yet so we can't kill him."

"He reminds me of someone I used to know in Russia," is Nat's soft admission. I say nothing simply letting her talk in her own time.

"When I was pulled out of the fire I was taken in by a man named Ivan. He told me to call him Uncle Ivan and I did. He trained me in an academy made back in the Soviet era called the Red Room. When the Soviet era ended, some Russians were not happy with it, and Uncle Ivan was one of them. He kept the Red Room running and began something called the Black Widow program. It was to teach girls to become the ultimate spies. We were trained in languages, history- with a Soviet slant, of course- seduction, espionage, both giving and receiving torture, and murder. There was only going to ever be one Black Widow, and it was the girl who survived all of that. It was harsh and difficult and at the end, graduation was whoever was left killing each other to be the only one to survive. I almost was poisoned by one of the girls when I was eight- she was punished for being unsuccessful. I was the one who survived- I was the Black Widow. Uncle Ivan was so proud of me, and he sent me out to kill those he deemed detrimental to the cause.

"He was rather like that General Ross in some ways."

This was the first time Nat had ever told me her past and I suddenly understood why Arlie said she wanted to cry for it. I was tempted to hug Nat- but she was not that type of person. Arlie would want a hug after that, Nat just wants confirmation you're still with her.

"Maybe we _should_ kill him then."

Nat smirks slightly and if her eyes are a little bright, neither of us mentions it. "No- Phil would be disappointed and Arlie would refuse to make you any cake for a year."

"Well, can't have that."

"No, you get cranky if you don't have enough chocolate."

"That's not true!"

"You were very cranky in Cape Town when you went for five days without any at all."

"I was cranky because I was shot in the leg!"

"And you had no chocolate."

"Leg!"

"Isn't that a female stereotype- you know, the chocolate obsession?"

"Are you calling me a girl?"

"I'm calling you nothing- I just asked a question. I'm not quite up on my American culture- I still haven't seen _the Godfather_."

"Bull shit."

She shrugged and I grinned.

Yeah- we had some screwed up pasts, but we were good.


	21. Best Orange Chicken in New York

**OK, guys- Poll is open so go vote! I've been getting some PMs and Reviews and so far I think most people want Bruce (which is lovely since that's kind of what I want) but please make your stance known and vote! (OR PM/Review- I'll just add it mentally to the poll)**

**There's really nothing from the movies here, it's just more of the usual suspects and their lives and times. Hope you enjoy.**

**Please read, review, vote on the poll, if you have an interludes request tell me, ect.**

* * *

**July 8th, 2008 (Arlie)**

"I still don't see why you can't go with Tasha." I _hate it_ when Fury does this. He sends my brother or Tasha off on missions solo. They're a perfect team- they watch each other's backs and I don't worry nearly as much when they're together as when they're apart.

Sometimes a dark corner of me feels that Fury does this just to provoke me.

But whatever else Fury is (_bastard_), he does care about his agency, and Clint and Tasha are his top agents. He won't let them get hurt if he can help it.

And, sometimes, it is really better for one of them to go without the other. Another person means another person to be spotted- sometimes Clint wouldn't be able to do anything to help Tasha's mission and vice versa.

I still don't like it.

"It's just a quick thing in Belarus, I'll be back before you know it," my brother comforts me as he packs his bag. I toss him a pair of socks once I realize he's only packing weapons and a toothbrush. _What an idiot_.

"You do realize you've jinxed yourself now you've said that. Something is going to go horribly wrong now. You've jinxed it, bird brain."

"Come on, munchkin, I was the one who spent time with circus people, I'm supposed to be the superstitious one. I didn't jinx anything."

I groan, "You're just making it worse now. Knock on wood or something!"

He knocks on the doorframe while rolling his eyes just to satisfy me. I still don't feel any better.

"I still wish you could have Tasha with you."

"She's got other things to do as well- it'll be fine."

I groan again and shove some tee shirts at my brother (_who the hell taught him how to pack, anyways?_), "You just keep making it worse when you say things like that!"

"Fine- it's all going to go horribly wrong and I will end up facing the wrong end of a gun. There, better now?"

"It's too late," I pout, "You've jinxed it too far."

"I don't think that's a thing."

"You've _made_ it a thing."

"I'll see you in a few weeks, munchkin."

"Be careful, bird brain."

My brother kisses me on the cheek and leaves for Belarus after a hug.

I've got a sinking feeling. I don't want to lose my brother to some mission Fury sent him on.

I won't be able to handle that.

* * *

**July 14th, 2008**

"Arlie- Clint hasn't reported in."

This is not something I have _ever_ wanted to hear. Phil telling it to me is heartbreaking, because he's just as upset as I am and Tasha's off the grid on some mission in no-one-will-tell-me-ville with no contact until she's back and _Clint hasn't reported in_.

"What do we do?"

"There's not really anything we _can_ do. He could be fine. The equipment could have been broken, he could be in a situation where he feels reporting in would break his cover- he could be fine."

"Or he could be hurt somewhere and need help."

I don't say the alternative we're both desperately trying to ignore.

_He could be dead._

* * *

**July 21st, 2008**

"We've got him."

Phil's voice, always a comforting sound, has never been so wonderful.

"How is he?"

"He's bad, Arlie, but we'll fix him."

"How bad?"

Phil sighs. He's trying to protect me- doesn't want me to know just how bad _bad_ is.

I need to know.

"Phil- I need to know."

"He's got both legs, several fingers, and a couple toes broken. His fingernails on one hand have been pulled off. Massive concussion causing nausea, loss of consciousness periodically, and disorientation. One arm has been dislocated for a while. Cuts and scrapes and bruises everywhere. It's bad."

I'm not quite certain how to respond to that. I'm not sure I'm breathing properly. Phil's voice comes to me over the phone again.

"Arlie. _Arlie_. We're going to fix him."

I take a deep breath. Two. I concentrate on what I can control. What can I control?

"What can I do?"

"Good girl," from most people being called "good girl" would be patronizing, but Phil makes it into the nicest compliment anyone could give me. "He's going to need a lot of rest, once the Doctors are done with him I'll get you in here so he can be with you. That'll help calm him down when he wakes up. He's a bit disoriented right now. Bring some stuff with you- he'll be coming in and out of it while he heals."

"OK. OK. I can do that. What about Tasha?"

"She hasn't come back from her mission yet but we have every reason to believe it's been successful and she's on her way home. We'll be seeing her soon and she'll kick your brother's ass for getting hurt."

"Nah- she'll wait for him to heal first, then she'll kick him."

"True. Ok- I'm going to go talk with the Doctors now, I'll call you when I'm on my way to pick you up."

"I can drive,"

"Just let me pick you up, Arlie. OK?"

"Ok. I'll see you later."

"Yeah- I'll tell you if anything changes."

"Bye, Phil."

"Arlie? Don't be worried- you're brother's tough. Got a lot of conviction and that doesn't lie down easily."

"Thanks, Phil. See you soon."

"You got it."

* * *

**July 25th, 2008**

"You think he'll be more _with it_ the next time he wakes up? He's been pretty out of it every other time."

"Well, the Doctors have been keeping him pretty dosed up, and you know he's a lightweight on meds."

"That is true, he was knocked out within five minutes of taking that sleeping pill you snuck him once, and that was a half dose."

"Yeah, I guess so. I just want him to wake up properly."

"We're right here with you, Arlie."

Suddenly the fourth occupant of the room lets out a soft groan, we all turn sharply to look at Clint, who scrunches his eyes and blinks them open blurrily. The heart rate monitor starts to climb as he doesn't immediately recognize his surroundings.

"Hey, bird brain, calm down. You're fine." I step into my brother's line of sight and he relaxes.

"Munchkin?"

"I'm right here, and so are Phil and Tasha. We're all safe and sound. You just had to go and get yourself all beat up. I told you you jinxed it, numbskull, but did you listen? No. Of course not. You know- just because you're the big brother doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two, too."

He's smirking at me- a sign he is definitely feeling better.

"Look- Tasha had an even tougher mission than you and she managed to come back in one piece with minimal bruising. I think she's officially taken your title as top Agent. I'm going to have a trophy made for her or something."

"No fair- I didn't have a trophy."

"I didn't have internal bleeding," Tasha comes to stand beside me where Clint could see her easily.

"Hey, Widow. I suppose this means you're going to kick my ass now?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to wait until your ass is healed so then I can at least _pretend_ you're a bit of a challenge."

"Really feeling the love, guys. Phil- you got anything nice to say?"

"I know better than to side against those girls. They're scary apart- they're down right terrifying since you teamed them up."

"Damn- is anyone going to be nice to me?"

"Don't count on it, bird brain."

"Gee- no sympathy for the guy in a hospital bed."

"Not when the guy put himself there, no," says Tasha in her driest of voices. I add that to the list of things I want her to teach me.

"Phil- come on, help me. Isn't getting hurt enough to be put in the hospital enough punishment?"

"Actually, we figured you might be a bit of a masochist, so we were thinking this is a bit like a vacation for you."

Clint pouts, "I hate vacations."

"But think of all the food you get to eat now! We'll get take out from every Chinese place in New York and figure out who has the best Orange Chicken once and for all."

"I'm telling you, it's Southern Dragon's."

"And I'm telling you, I've had better- I just can't remember where I got it from."

"It was from Southern Dragon and you're just arguing to be obnoxious."

"I think you've gotten confused with that concussion," says Tasha, "about which Barton sibling it is that is the obnoxious one."

"Romanoff, you wound me."

"I'm surprised you can tell with how much pain medication you're on."

"I'm going to go back to sleep- and away from all this unpleasant company."

"You do that, Barton."

"And while you're out, I'll steal Phil's pen and draw on your face!"

My brother chuckles lightly and goes back to sleep. The three of us still awake take a collective sigh of relief and sit back down.

He's going to drive us all insane.

* * *

**August 5th, 2008**

"We've tried every single Chinese place in the phone book- admit it, Southern Dragon has the best Orange Chicken!"

"It's had the best one we've _tried_, but I'm telling you- I've had better!"

"Oh, god- no, you didn't, munchkin."

"Shut up, bird brain- the place must've closed down since or something."

"…"

"Ok, fine- Southern Dragon has the best Orange Chicken in New York City!"

"_Finally_!"

"But Tiger's Palace has better sesame pork."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me- get the phone book, we're ordering take out!"


	22. Interlude: Stained Glass

**Ok- first off, we have some news. In the polls, I'm shocked to find Steve leading for Arlie's love interest. I say shocked because the people who seem to feel most strongly (i.e.- the people who PM me with paragraphs of what they think & would like to see(and I say this with great love because I ADORE getting those messages) or review) all seem to unanimously want Bruce. Which is leaving me feeling conflicted. Because **_**I **_**want Bruce so far and while I don't want to simply write to solely please people (because that would be forcing the story, and I'd prefer to let it grow naturally if at all possible) I do want you guys to have a say because you are a large reason of why I'm writing. You're all invested in this as well and I'm just...conflicted. Anyways, I'll keep the poll open and I'll watch for more reviews/PMs on the subject (and like I said earlier- I love them; especially when they are long and multi-paragraphed).**

**So now to this. It's a tiny little interlude that technically takes place a few days previous to the start of the last chapter. It's Phil's birthday and it's just a little interlude I wrote to get out some thoughts and feelings I have via Phil Coulson. Mostly because Phil as a character is most likely to have this realization.**

**So I hope you enjoy: read, review, send me interlude requests, ect. You all know the drill. Thanks to everyone who does all of the aforementioned.**

* * *

**July 4th, 2008 (Phil)**

_This birthday is in my top 5_. The Avengers Initiative is coming together, and I've convinced Fury that both Clint and Natahsa need to be part of the team. Arlie and Clint managed to find me another Captain America card for my birthday and Natasha got me a really beautiful Glock. Arlie made my favorite Red Velvet cake and all is right with the world.

I have no idea how this little family came to be, but I thank fate for leading us all into it.

It's while Arlie and Clint sing Happy Birthday to me and Natasha rolls her eyes but gives a small smile that I have a realization.

This is all Arlie's doing.

This isn't _fate_- it's Arlie Clara Barton.

She has always been there for each one of us, she listens to our sins and problems and doesn't offer criticism or even advice, just understanding and unwavering trust.

She has brought together and made this little family in so many ways. Clint and I had been close before he found Arlie- but it was Arlie who helped me fall into the fatherly role I now take with the Bartons. And it's the job I am proudest of. She teased me and made sure I knew how to take care of Clint in ways that would've taken me years longer to figure out. She let me give advice until _not_ doing so seemed unnatural.

She also pulled her brother into the world of the living so he was completely invested in staying alive. She let him act like a child with her and also let him take care of her (with minimal complaints) and let him know in a thousand tiny ways that he may be an assassin, but he was always her big brother.

An important realization for Clint after his dealings with Barney.

And I was just now beginning to realize that from the beginning, Natasha was aware of Arlie's existence. And that was partially because Clint trusted her (for some reason I still don't understand) from the very beginning. But it was also because Clint _knew_.

He knew that Arlie saves people.

And if anyone ever needed saving, it was Natasha Romanoff.

Arlie was, for all of us, our family and also our confessional. She _created_ this group. Natasha was someone her brother had brought home and Arlie immediately included her in all the goings on of our little family. Natasha would have never adjusted so quickly and so well emotionally if it weren't for Arlie.

Arlie was by no means perfect- though Clint and I could probably argue all day to anyone that she was- but she knew how to create a lasting family around her, taking all the broken pieces of each one of us and mixing in her own shattered fragments to create a stained glass window of a family.

It was something beautiful to see.

_Never mind,_ I decided as Arlie served up cake to all of us and showed Clint how she had got a chocolate bar for him as well, _this particular birthday was the best._


	23. Ordinary, Everyday People

**So on the Arlie Romantic Interest front: I have received a fabulous argument in support of Steve and now I wish there was a way for me to do both. Sadly, I cannot. I'm keeping the poll open and I'm always willing (actually, more than willing) to receive your reviews and PMs with your thoughts. But now at this point it seems like I'm not even going to actually make a decision- I'm just going to write and see what happens.**

**This is the new chapter for today and I love it. Next chapter we'll be getting into the events of Iron Man 2, which means a lot of Natasha POV because I can! Yay!**

**Please, read, review, ask for interludes, ect.**

* * *

**September 17th, 2008 (Natasha)**

"Happy Birthday, Natasha Romanoff," Clint whispers in my ear as we walk through a Somalian monsoon that has caused us to lose our target. It's his first mission back after he went to Belarus and we're supposed to be taking it kind of easy even with SHIELD's superior medical advancements and Doctors. Clint heals fast even without all the SHIELD benefits, but he's still rehabilitating. I realize that it must be midnight, since Clint is now wishing me a Happy Birthday. At first I was confused- September 17th is not my birthday, but then I realized: it _was_ the day Natasha Romanoff was born in some fashion. I find myself disappointed I'm not in New York with Arlie and Phil to celebrate.

I like Natasha Romanoff. I don't think I'll have a problem celebrating her birth.

Clint sees me smile and gives me a big goofy grin in return.

I shove him into a puddle.

* * *

**October 7th, 2008**

I watch as Arlie expertly cuts the quadruple chocolate cake that I know Clint has been dreaming about for weeks now. I start to wonder how many slices of quadruple chocolate cake she's cut over the years. Has she only ever made this cake with Clint? Or did she learn it sometime while they were separated and just decided that since Clint likes it so much it's something she'll only make for him now (despite my insisting chocolate is fine, Arlie insisted on making me carrot cake for me when we celebrated my day- it was delicious).

Then I got to wondering how many more slices she'll cut over the years she'll spend with her brother. They could be very short years- Clint and I don't have the safest of jobs and Arlie could very quickly lose both of us. Phil is slightly safer since most of his work as field agent is done. He's our handler and the best we could have ever been assigned (though it was really more Phil deciding to take us rather than Fury deciding to hand us off to Phil). But Arlie has the longest life expectancy in the room.

She smiles as she cuts another slice of her brother's 29th birthday cake.

I wonder if she fears that life expectancy the way Clint fears dying on her.

* * *

**December 25th, 2008**

"Seriously- that is the third card you've managed to get for me- what is your secret?" demands Phil from the Barton siblings. They giggle and chuckle and refuse to tell him their methods. Well, they do, but it's undoubtedly a tall tale. No one finds a vintage Captain America card in a Tanzanian church.

_Do_ they?

* * *

**January 1st, 2009**

I give Clint a peck on the lips at midnight.

"You taste like sausage," I tell him as I pull away. He gives me his most sincere smile and says.

"I should- ate most of the pizza- which reminds me, last slice- who wants it?"

"I think you're stuck with it," says Phil from where he sits with a beer in hand. "I can't handle any more meat lover's."

"Why do you get that every New Year's?" I ask.

"Well it started off as a Christmas deal," says Clint as he finishes up the final piece of meat lover's pizza he ordered for this year. "Phil and I would hang out in SHIELD getting drunk, swapping presents, and eating meat lover's every Christmas. Then we found Arlie," Clint's face lights up with the same dazzling smile he gets every time he talks about his baby sister. He has another version of it for Phil, and I've noticed he does a different smile for me now. I quite like the idea of it, having my own special smile from Clint, but am not quite sure what to do about it. "So now we spend Christmas with Arlie and since she likes to cook so much, we just kind of forgot about the pizza that first Christmas with her. Besides- Arlie's food is _much_ nicer. Anyways- that New Year's we realized we missed it and since Arlie was out with some friends, we decided to just shift the tradition over to New Year's instead of Christmas. Works out really well."

"What are you talking about?" Phil interrupts, "The pizza takes twice as long on New Year's as it does on Christmas, I swear."

"Still tastes good, though."

"Says the man who wanted to open a restaurant that sold day-old, cold pizza."

"Untapped market, I swear to you."

* * *

**April 5th, 2009**

"I can't believe you're twenty eight. That sounds so grown up."

"I can act childish if it'll make you feel better," and Arlie sticks out her tongue at her brother. He nudges her with his shoulder.

"No- but seriously, when did that happen?"

"Just now- you were right here, remember?"

"You know what I mean."

"Really don't, old man,"

"Again- I am older than all of you," Phil interjects. "So let's keep the aging jokes to a minimum. Arlie- why don't you open your presents?"

Arlie bounces in her seat and practically flies over to the table on which her gifts are stacked.

"Tasha- I love it!" she squeals, looking at the tickets to the Russian ballet I bought her. They're for Christmas Eve when they're performing the Nutcracker in New York, and I plan to murder Fury in his sleep if he tries to send me on a mission that'll make me miss it.

Arlie throws her arms around me and gives me a hug. I roll my eyes and give her a light squeeze back. I'm still not particularly comfortable with physical contact outside of fights or covers- but for the people in this room I can easily make an exception.

She continues to open presents and is delighted with everything and everyone. I wonder if I could've been more like Arlie if the Red Room hadn't got to me. But then Clint looks over at me and gives me that special smile that he only uses on me, and I decide it doesn't really matter.

I like being Natasha Romanoff.

* * *

**July 4th, 2009**

"Seriously, Phil? _This_ is what you want to do for your birthday?" asks Clint as we finish putting the last bag in the jeep. Phil asked for camping. Just a couple days. He said that was the only gift he wanted (not that any of us would let him get away without receiving something else) and he stuck to his guns even as Clint pointed out that he spent enough time in woods hunting down people- he certainly didn't want to sleep in them if he didn't have to.

Arlie just stepped on his foot and I gave him a look that said to shut up.

So we all load into the jeep and Phil drives out of the city and into some sort of camp ground and makes Clint help him pitch a tent while Arlie and I apply sunscreen and bug spray liberally and often.

We stink of the spray, but we don't have to scratch any bites later.

That night we're lying on the ground outside the tent by a small fire I got going after both Clint and Phil tried and failed (Arlie laughed at the both of them for a good couple minutes over that). The fireworks for Independence Day start and it looks amazing away from all the light pollution of the city.

Even Clint admits then that camping wasn't such a bad idea.

* * *

**July 5th, 2009**

He's singing a different tune in the morning when he realized he forgot to reapply bug spray before falling asleep.

* * *

**September 17th, 2009**

"I'm so glad you're actually _here_ for the day this year!" said Arlie as she serves up some carrot cake. I'm really not certain why she loves cooking and baking so much, Phil doesn't get it either and Clint, I'm sure, understands but refuses to explain. However, I'm perfectly happy to reap the rewards of Arlie's "Julia Child/Martha Stewart complex" as Clint calls it.

"We did celebrate last year- it was only a few days later."

Arlie rolls her eyes, but knows this is my way of agreeing with her. She smiles and grabs a wrapped present and shoves it at me while I'm eating my cake.

"Here! I can't wait any longer!" she says.

"What happened, to "Tasha's day she gets to choose?"," Clint says, teasing his sister.

"Not everyone has your patience, bird brain."

"OK, munchkin, but you can't let her finish her cake first?"

"Well, I'm curious, so I'll open it. Besides, I can chew and open presents at the same time," I interject before an all-out sibling war begins. They're very rarely ever truly angry with one another but they can bicker for hours if they get going. Phil shoots me a look of gratitude after keeping his children from starting another contest of wit.

Clint shrugs and starts forking his own slice of cake into his mouth at an alarming rate. Both Bartons eat rather fast- I think it's from when they were in orphanages and had to eat quick or loose the food to someone else.

I can understand that.

I open up the gift from Arlie first- because she does have the least patience out of everyone. It's a pair of ballet slippers and a note saying there is a studio on 9th that's willing to let me rent out the room for private practice sessions and she's already paid them for five hours I can collect whenever I'd like. I look up at Arlie, speechless, and she nods and grins.

It's hard not to adore Arlie Clara Barton, so I don't even try.

* * *

**October 7th, 2009**

"You're THIRTY! That's THREE WHOLE DECADES!" Arlie's practically screaming- I can tell, since I can hear her even though she's not on speaker phone. She's more than a little miffed she's missing this particular birthday, but Clint and I are in Libya and on a relatively (for us) easy (though important) mission.

There's a certain rising politician SHIELD'd rather be dead.

Arlie's just glad Phil swung it for her to call her brother on his birthday. She's still a bit over protective since his near fatal mission in 2008 (we all are), and the fact he got shot in the arm (clean, through and through, very minor) just about a month ago has exacerbated it a bit.

It's times like these I'm pretty sure she fears not just how short Clint's life expectancy is, but how long hers is in comparison.

Arlie is quite desperate not to be left alone after everything.

Clint grins and chuckles at his sister's exuberance. And makes several comments about how she's really not that much younger, to which she retaliates that he seems to treat her as if she is.

He doesn't really has a response for that, and they spend the next half hour bickering back and forth until I roll my eyes and take the phone from Clint to talk to Arlie myself.

* * *

**November 3rd, 2009**

"How many times have you been shot now?" I ask as I sit next to Clint on Arlie's couch. We'd snuck out of medical as soon as I decided Barton would be ok for a quick drive to Arlie's. He'd much rather be there anyways- Arlie fusses over him and forces him to take medicine, but he's got a more comfortable place to relax and it doesn't smell of disinfectant.

"For the record- I don't think this one should count since it was aimed for you."

"I can take a bullet myself, thank you. I _have_ been shot before."

"Yeah- well, I wasn't really aiming to take it, I was trying to get _both_ of us out of the way."

"And how did that work out?" asks his sister as she walks in from work. I picked the lock earlier to let us in since Arlie wasn't home. She's no longer surprised to find us in her apartment when she comes home- I think she'd give us a key if she didn't know that we can pick the lock just as easily. I'm surprised Clint hasn't started worrying about who else could potentially pick her lock.

"I got one out of two- 50%."

"So an F?"

"Well, I don't think we're going with the high school grading system here."

"Ok. What system are we going with?"

"The one where I was _mostly_ successful."

"You were only half successful, that means it _wasn't_ most. Just half."

"_Thank you, Tasha_. Why is nobody ever on my side when I'm injured? I thought injury meant everyone would take care of me and let me do whatever I want?"

"You get injured too often for that. Now we just get annoyed and work around you."

"Sisters are supposed to be nicer than that."

"Well, you got stuck with me. Get over it. Have you taken any meds at all or are you being stupid again?"

"He's always stupid," I tell Arlie before Clint can try to lie.

"I'm being ganged up on! This is just…" he looks for a word while Arlie goes to her medicine cabinet. She pulls out what she considers appropriate and fills up a glass with some water for Clint. Silently handing it over, she raises an eyebrow and intimidates him into taking the pills with one glance.

I've got to get her to teach me to do that.

* * *

**December 24th, 2009**

"So Fury and the Council have officially approved your initiative? Merry Christmas, Phil!" Clint's grinning as Phil puts all the presents he brought down around Arlie's tree.

Arlie and I have just gotten back from the Nutcracker and Fury is extremely lucky he didn't even try to send me out on a mission that would jeopardize my plans. I like ballet and I'd promised Arlie to take her. We came back to her apartment to find the boys had broken in and were already setting up for Christmas Day.

"So Fury is thinking of playing with superheroes now? What is this- like the Justice League?" Arlie says as she brings in some cheese and crackers for everyone to snack on. Clint immediately attacks the platter- before she even puts it down on the table. I grab a few pieces before he can eat them all and Phil does the same.

"Well, I'm glad it's off the ground at least. And now we can start the selection process."

"So, come on Phil- who's gonna be the superheroes?" Clint grins. "This is your baby we're talking about here- you've been planning the Avengers forever, it seems."

"I never understood- why that name? With you, Phil, I'd think you'd choose something about conviction. Like- the…" Arlie's nose wrinkles and her eyebrows pinch together as she searches for a word. "Never mind, I can see why you didn't go with that- but why Avengers?"

"Well, it sounded good for one thing. Which can't be said for the Convictors."

"Yeah- not the best name for a superhero team," Clint interjects.

"It's because I want the team to be about more than just justice or being a hero- I want it to be about avenging the ordinary, everyday people who need it, and each other if it's ever necessary."

"Should've known you'd have an _actual_ answer," sighed Clint, "I'd've just gone with something that sounded cool. Like Zeppelin."

"Which is why this is my idea, and not yours."

"So who are you considering?" I ask, "I'm going to assume Stark is on the list."

Clint groans, "Not him. I told you- not a team player."

"Pretty rich coming from Hawkeye," Phil comments. "But yes, Mr. Stark is being considered. They're thinking about sending someone in to examine him for potential. I want to see if I can convince Fury to let you do it, Tasha- you're good at getting a read on people."

"Oooh," says Arlie, "Super-secret spy mission for Tasha. Merry Christmas!"

I smile, "It would seem so."

"I don't get a super-secret spy mission?" Clint pouts, "I feel cheated. Now I know how the Grinch became the way he is."

"You do realize that by the end of the story the Grinch likes Christmas again, right?" asks Arlie.

"Well, duh- I still want to get all my presents."

"I think Clint missed that particular moral," Phil sighs.

"Who else you looking at, Phil?" asks Arlie.

"Well, if we could find some way to control him, Fury thinks we should add in the Hulk."

"Can he be controlled? I mean- and that General is still looking for him."

"Ross," I say, "Yes- he's very determined to get his hands on Dr. Banner."

"In a not very nice way," adds Clint.

"I agree, but Fury rather likes the idea, and if he was an Avenger we could offer him some form of protection."

"I don't understand- is the Avenger's Initiative under SHIELD control or are you guys just putting a team together and letting them do their thing?" Arlie asks. She clearly does not like the idea of SHIELD controlling a team of superheroes.

"A bit of both, actually- SHIELD obviously wouldn't be able to control the heroes once the team is formed, but it would be in our interest to work with the Avengers. Should it come into being," Phil said the last bit with his fingers crossed and his eyes pointed heavenward.

Arlie hums and puts down some more food. Clint's finished the cheese and crackers at this point and she takes the empty platter without comment. I think she's just used to it now.

"Well," said Phil after a little more discussion, "Shouldn't you be going to sleep or something so Santa can come?" This comment gets a synchronized eye roll from the Barton siblings and a slight smirk from me. Phil really is their father.

"I think Santa might be avoiding us since bird brain always eats his cookies."

"Hey! You snooze you lose. I don't care if he gives me more arrows or not- I'm not letting food sit out."

"And there we have Clint's personality in a nutshell," I say dryly. Phil laughs so hard he begins to choke on his drink and Arlie is delighted with my comment. Clint tries to do his best put-upon expression but doesn't quite manage it when Arlie manages to snort while laughing.

Christmas with the Bartons never is dull.


	24. A Super-Secret Spy Thing

**So here we have the next chapter which follows the events in Iron Man 2- that movie is actually going to take two chapters but we get to see Tasha kick some ass in this one so- yay! It's my first attempt to write a fight scene so...yeah, not sure how I feel about it. Anyways- I'm writing a couple chapters ahead and I've gotten into the Budapest incident. Dun dun dun. We're going to find out what exactly happened in Budapest! Or, at least, my version which I'm making up now. **

**We've also got the movie Thor coming up next and then we're going to have Budapest and _then _Captain America unfrozen! Which means I need to make a decision on romantic things before that happens...darn. I'm no closer to a decision so keep voting and sending your thoughts because they do help me make a mental list of pros and cons. We'll see what goes down eventually.**

**To all of you who favorite, follow, and review: you're fabulous. And a special shot out to those who write me multiple paragraphs in PMs about this story: you are extra glorious and I could cry it makes me so happy to hear from you. Seriously- when I get a multi-paragraph messenge on why Arlie should be with Bruce/Steve or even just one on what you think of the story in general, it completely makes my day. Actually, my week. **

**Please read, review, request any interludes, ect. Enjoy!**

* * *

**February 15th, 2010 (Natasha)**

"Agent Romanoff, I've got your latest assignment here, if you would step into my office," Fury calls and when I step into the room to also find Phil there with a happy expression on his face, I'm fairly certain I know what I'm in for.

"Romanoff, you've been specially requested," at this Fury looks pointedly at Phil, "to check out Tony Stark for potential in the Avengers Initiative. You're also to check up on him since we have intelligence that his arc reactor may be failing him. He's sick and won't ask for help. But, we need superheroes, Agent Romanoff- and loathe as I am to admit it, Iron Man is a hero. We can't let him die. Even if he is an annoying son of a bitch."

"Understood, sir. When do you want me to start?"

"It's all in the file. Oh- and Agent?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If you happen to have a friend help you make some decent computer records for the cover, I _don't_ want to know."

"Understood, Director. I'll get started on this right away."

As I walk out of Fury's office I request a car and change into civilian clothes.

I'm going to visit Arlie.

* * *

**March 3rd, 2010**

"Look at that," says Arlie, scrolling through her computer, admiring her work. "Practically flawless, you'd have to be really looking to ever know this was faked. You are now Natalie Rushman," she gives a little giggle, "That was so much fun! And such a challenge! You're going up against Tony Stark- a computer genius! I can't wait to see if he notices and picks up on the forgeries. I mean, I don't think he will, but, again, computer genius. Hard to guarantee. And it all depends on how deep he goes digging- try not to make him want to dig too deep, huh? I mean, if this wasn't a super-secret spy thing I'd say see how far he has to look before realizing I forged it all but since it is kind of important let's not test them too hard."

"You did great," I tell her, looking over her shoulder. Arlie had an awful lot of fun faking an online existence for Natalie Rushman, including resume, social media photos, and a thousand other details that no one else would really think of.

"I didn't realize you spoke Latin, by the way- that's cool. Can you teach me how to curse in it?"

"Why do you want to curse in Latin?"

"Besides the fact I could say I can curse in Latin?"

"Good point."

"So go- give these babies a road test! And then call me and say how it went! I wanna hear everything about your job interview!" She beams at me as I write a few final notes in the file before beginning my undercover work officially.

"I will, I promise. And I have faith in you- my cover will never be blown because of anything online."

"I could try hacking into Stark's computers if you want to see if anything's going on? I hack into SHIELD all the time, Stark would be a nice challenge."

"Let's not and say we did, huh? You can try hacking after the mission is over. And I'll sneak you into base so you can use all the tech we've got there."

"Yay! Happy birthday me!"

"OK- I've got to go, wish me luck, and I promise to call."

"Good luck!" Arlie obligingly calls after me as I leave the apartment.

* * *

**March 7th, 2010**

"So you got the job? And you did it by kicking some poor guy's ass? Can't say I'm surprised," says Clint over the phone as I organize some files in Natalie Rushman's new office. "Is it nice?" Arlie says, clearly having taken the phone from her brother, "I'll bet it's nice."

"Do you want this job?" I ask her, only teasing a little.

"Uh- _yes_- do you realize how nice the stuff at Stark Tower is? It's like…OK you know how you feel when you get to go on a mission where you use _all_ your guns _and_ your Widow's bites?"

I smirk, knowing where this is going, "Yes."

"That's me when I get brand new tech in my hands."

"So it's like when I get to shoot from all the different positions I practice in?" Clint adds in, apparently sharing the phone with Arlie now.

"_Exactly_." Arlie is emphatic.

"Well, as soon as I make sure it's clean, I'll bring the new laptop I've got to you and you can play on it."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" I can just picture Arlie bouncing up and down, and I can hear Clint chuckle at his sister's enthusiasm.

"Alright- I've got to go, I'll talk to you two later."

"Have fun!" cheers Arlie.

"Be safe," Clint reminds me solemnly.

I hang up and go to work. Stark Towers will never know what hit it.

* * *

**April 5th, 2010**

"So how is the job babysitting Stark?" asks Clint when I arrive at Arlie's apartment that night.

"Aren't we supposed to be celebrating you or something?"

"Yes- but I want to know. Still think he's covering up for insecurities?"

"I hate working for him."

Clint laughs at me. I think it's rather inappropriate, so I hit him upside the head.

"Children," Phil sighs as he walks out of the kitchen, "What did you do now, Hawkeye?"

"Why do you assume it was me?"

"Because it's always a Barton and Arlie is in the other room."

"Natalie is just having a bad day- doesn't like working for Stark. Bad for the blood pressure."

"I'll show you how much pressure my blood's under," I mutter to him as I move into the kitchen. Arlie'll be more sympathetic.

"Happy Birthday, Clint!" he calls after me, smirking.

"Happy Birthday, Barton," I sigh as I leave the room.

I'm going to kill one of them these days. Whether it's Stark or Clint who goes first is anyone's guess.

* * *

**April 18th, 2010**

"Nat- Nat- are you OK?" Clint's panicked voice comes over the phone. He's clearly taken aback- his voice is shaky and it's in a slightly higher pitch than usual. I quickly reassure him.

"Yes- Yes, I'm fine, Hawkeye," I use his code name, reminding him that we're working and I'm a professional. It calms him down and when he responds next his voice is steady and he's back to being my smart-ass partner.

"I'm watching Monaco on TV- Stark got his ass kicked for awhile there. Almost didn't win. You sure we want him on our team? Maybe we should get the other guy."

"Something tells me he wouldn't play on our team."

"Ah- that's true- he's not like me and you."

"Yes," I smirk, "he hasn't met Arlie."

"We are _not_ using my sister to rehabilitate criminals!"

I just laugh.

* * *

**May 1st, 2010**

"Sir, here's the information I have on Tony Stark's illness. He's dying, Director. The arc reactor's poisoning him with palladium."

Fury sighs, "It's a good thing we've got all of Howard Stark's notes- get to work on some sort of antidote."

"Already done sir, they say they can't cure it but we can buy him more time with a lithium dioxide injection. Howard Stark's notes contain information on another element meant to be more stable and sustainable than the palladium, sir."

"I know," Fury snaps, "but it's beyond SHIELD capabilities to produce. We're gonna have to have Stark complete his daddy's work. Anything else, Agent?"

"Well, Stark left his home last night after a party and fight with Colonel Rhodes- the Colonel took a prototype of a new Iron Man suit and intelligence says he has brought it to the military. They've requested Justin Hammer to work on it. Also, Ivan Vanko has escaped prison. We currently have no knowledge of his whereabouts."

Fury frowns. "We need to fix that."

I say nothing, letting Fury look through the file I've given him. He sighs. "Where is Stark?"

"I'll take you to him."

"We also need to track down that Vanko guy- I don't like his face."

"I'll get someone on that, sir," I reply, texting Hill before Fury had even finished his sentence. "Vanko definitely had help escaping- someone powerful with a lot of influence."

Fury cursed and kept moving. When we arrive at Randy's Donuts to see Tony Stark sitting in a giant doughnut sign, I'm not even surprised.

Arlie and Clint would find this hysterical.

Fury asks me to secure the surrounding area and I dial Clint's number as I do so.

"Hawkeye, marksman extraordinaire, how many I help you?" he answers.

"Very nice. I'm about to blow my cover on purpose to Stark."

"Can you video it? I wanna see the ass-hat's face."

"No, but I'll tell you about it over dinner."

"Dinner tonight? Works for me. Where do you want to go?"

"How about that sushi place? Does that sound good?"

"Nat- any kind of food always sounds good to me."

"Good point. I'll see you at six?"

"We can get dessert afterwards at that place by the barbeque restaurant Arlie likes so much. See you then, Tasha."

I walk in to the diner to report to Fury.

"We've secured the perimeter, but I don't think we should hold it for too much longer." At the sound of my voice, Stark stops drinking his coffee and looks over at me. I meet his gaze as he absorbs my change in outfit. Fury looks downright delighted.

"Huh…you're fired." Is what the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist comes up with.

"That's not up to you." I take a seat next to the Director.

"Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff."

"Hi," says Stark with his head in his hands.

"I'm a SHIELD shadow, once we knew you were ill I was tasked to you by Director Fury."

"I suggest you apologize," Stark says to me with his usual arrogance. I don't acknowledge him.

"You've been very busy," the Director continues. "You made your girl your CEO, you're giving away all your stuff. You let your friend fly away with your suit. Now, if I didn't know better-" Stark cuts him off.

"You _don't_ know better. I didn't give it to him. He took it."

Fury's sarcastic in the extreme. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. He _took_ it? You're Iron Man and he just _took it_? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass and _took_ _your_ _suit_?" he turns to me. "Is that possible?"

I keep my eyes on Stark as I answer, "Well, according to Mr. Stark's database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorized usage."

Stark smirks at us and looks slightly uncomfortable. I'm thinking of Phil right now- he's so convinced about his Initiative. I wonder if Stark can be made a team player. His father was one of the founding members of SHIELD, but Stark has daddy issues bigger than his ego. Fury already tried to recruit him after the initial Iron Man incident, but failed.

I begin to plan. I could ask Arlie and Clint for some advice- the Barton siblings are downright devious sometimes.

"What do you want from me?" Stark asks, finally seeming like a normal human being for the first time since this conversation started.

"What do we want from you? Na uh uh," says Fury, as I get up to get the lithium dioxide we had brought with us. Fury continues to speak. "What do _you_ want from _me_? _You_ have become a problem, a problem _I_ have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe. I have bigger problems in the southwest region to deal with. Hit him!" he orders me.

I oblige. And if I get a tiny feeling of satisfaction from sticking a needle in Tony Stark, no one but Clint would ever be able to tell from my face.

Stark groans and I move his neck to watch the progress as his skin clears. "Oh, God, are you gonna steal my kidney and sell it? Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?" he says to me as I sit beside him, then turns to Fury, "What did she just do to me?"

"What did we just do _for _you? That's lithium dioxide. It's gonna take the edge off. We're trying to get you back to work."

"Give me a couple boxes of that. I'll be right as rain."

I correct him, "It's not a cure, it just abates the symptoms."

The Director leans over to examine Stark closer, "Doesn't look like it's gonna be an easy fix."

Stark seems to be upset but covering for it, I watch him carefully, looking for a way to get him interested in the Avengers. He, I was confidant, had potential- but needed work. As Clint kept repeating, Stark was _not_ a team player. So how to get him to _want_ to play on a team? "Trust me, I know. I'm good at this stuff. I've been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I've tried every combination, every permutation of every known element."

The Director is assured as he answers, "Well, I'm here to tell you, you haven't tried them all."

* * *

**May 3rd, 2010**

I hate working for Tony Stark. It's most of my effort to keep myself from physically harming the man- it takes the rest to prevent myself from gagging him.

"I'm surprised you can keep your mouth shut." I tell him as Miss Potts leaves the room.

"God you're good," he says with almost a gleam in his eye. He's enjoying this. "You are mind blowingly close to this. How do you do it? You're a triple impostor, I've never seen anything like it. Is there anything real about you? Do you even speak Latin?"

"Fallaces sunt rerum species." I tell him. _The appearances of things are deceptive_.

"Which means? Wait, what did you just say?"

"It means you can either drive yourself home or I can have you collected," I've lost all my patience. I can't see why Arlie thinks this man is a genius- if he was, he'd have to be less…Stark.

* * *

**May 4th, 2010**

The expo is crowded and noisy and for a few minutes I entertain myself by thinking of all the possible assassinations I could do. Then I plan all the ones I could manage with Clint backing me up. Then, just for kicks, I plan ones that would require Arlie's help and Phil's.

Even I'm impressed with how many people we could kill.

The armored drones are disturbing, though- and I'm sure Arlie's watching on TV and frowning. She doesn't like it when agencies like SHIELD have power like that, and she likes it even less when the army does. I'll assume the same thing applies to the Navy, Air Force, and Marines.

We'll fix it. Stark's methods may be unpredictable, but his goals and ability to accomplish them never is.

_Justin Hammer must be pissing himself. _I watch as the drones suddenly become puppets to Vanko and run to a computer with Pepper. I'm done being Natalie Rushman- time to be the Black Widow.

Following Pepper, I start determining a plan. Justin Hammer is behind the creation of the drones. He had the help of Ivan Vanko. I need to find Vanko, and stop whatever is controlling the drones and Colonel Rhodes. Vanko used Hammer's tech and resources to build the drone, so he must therefore be where the tech and resources are now. I'll go to Hammer's warehouse and do what I can. Then, no doubt, Stark will show up and clean up the mess. Or, rather, create more of a mess and leave someone else to clean it up.

I get into the car with Happy and begin changing.

"I'm going to enter the facility," I tell him and then notice as the car swerves that his eyes are not front. "Eyes on the road," I order him. He obliges.

I should tell Clint about this guy- he'd eat Happy for breakfast if I asked him to. Of course, so can I. It'd just be more entertaining to watch Clint do it. He once took out a target's guard whose hands had wandered over me a little too much. He had hummed ACDC to himself while the guy got knocked unconscious after a couple broken ribs.

I get out of the car once it stops outside Hammer's facility and begin working on the door. I try to get Happy to stay in the car, but he's not listening.

_Idiotic male._

Following Happy in, I notice one guard head for me.

_I don't have time for this_.

I slip to the ground and send some Widow's Bites at the first man. He quickly falls to the floor with the force of the electricity on his legs. Turning, I head down the hallway. I have to find the computer that controls all this. If I had Arlie, she'd probably be able to hack it for me- but I don't want her anywhere near this Expo. Besides, Clint would never forgive me. Another guard exits a doorway and I flip over a cart and kick him down. I keep moving and take out another guard's knee while sliding across the floor.

_Must be polished regularly- this is smooth_.

Another guard comes from the front of the building and I leap over the last man I incapacitated and take him out with a thigh twist on his neck. Three men lie on the ground around me and I take off running.

_I really don't have time for this._

I hear another two guards approaching when their walkie talkies go off. I send two small smoke screen bombs at them. They move to cover their eyes and I kick out one's legs and kick the other's nose hard enough to knock him on his back. Another guard comes for me. This one is bigger, but I'm better.

I pull out a wire and use it to defend against his baton. A few punches and elbows to his face and chest and I'm able to twist around so the cord is wrapped around his neck. I don't want to kill any of these idiots- but they're really making it tempting. Two more rush me and I dodge one to knock down the other while still holding the wire tight. The one I dodged picks himself up from where he had fallen (_Overbalanced while punching- rookie mistake_.) and I drop the wire to wrap my thighs around his neck and twist myself around him. I'm suddenly glad Clint had been teaching me the tricks he had picked up from the circus acrobats- it's making this fight more entertaining than it would have been.

I shove the man to the ground and hear another coming up behind me. I knock him down quickly with a punch and kick combo and begin to move again. One more guard comes from a doorway and I simply pepper spray him.

_I'm done wasting time. Where is the damn computer?_


	25. Interlude: Carrot Cake

**This is a little celebratory piece because yesterday Reliant had over a thousand views! Um...wow! I'm actually really humbled by this and so I wanted to share this little moment with you all: the first time Tasha celebrates her day with Phil and the Bartons.**

**Read, review, ask for other interludes, and you're all awesome. Thanks so much for all the support!**

* * *

**September 21st, 2008 (Natasha)**

"So do you want to go out to eat or stay in?" Arlie asks as soon as Clint and I arrive at her apartment. Phil is only a few minutes behind us- he had some paperwork for Fury to do and told the two of us to start without him. "We're celebrating your day now since we missed the _day_ day because you we off doing super-secret spy things."

"How about we go to that Russian place you love so much, Nat?" Clint asks as he begins his usual ritual of going through his sister's fridge (he claims it's for snacks, but really it's to check she's got everything she needs and is eating well), her mail (to check for building announcements about anything he might want to check out later), and does a general survey of her apartment (to assess _what_, exactly, I still haven't figured out, but it might just be the fact he's paranoid when it comes to Arlie's safety and is looking for bombs- I wouldn't put it past him).

"That sounds wonderful," I say, surprised to find myself rather excited about celebrating my day with the Bartons and Phil. I've seen Christmas and Birthdays and New Year's with these people- and I'm honored they think I'm worth celebrating.

"Good, let me just grab your cake," says Arlie as she dashes off to the kitchen. Clint returns to my side and gives me a smile as he pulls out his phone to tell Phil where to meet us when the paperwork's done.

Arlie's back with a cake that does not smell like quadruple chocolate. Clint notices as well.

"Hey- that's not my quadruple chocolate," he accuses his sister. She stucks her tongue out at him and rolls her eyes.

"No, it's not. Because it's _Tasha's_ day, so it's _Tasha's_ cake. Now let's get a move on, bird brain."

We arrive in the restaurant and take our usual seats, with one left open for Phil. Clint begins ordering food and the waitress (she recognizes us now since we've come so many times) begins smiling and laughing at his Russian- I've been teaching him and while his accent is great, his grammar is terrible. Arlie doesn't even try Russian, just asking me to order for her.

Phil arrives half-way through the meal and orders something in passable Russian (he learned years ago in school and has the opposite problem of Clint- great grammar, a terrible accent). Two hours pass before any of us notice and the waitress takes away our empty plates (Clint finishes everything anyone else can't fit into their stomach, Phil makes a joke about his legs being hollow), then Arlie pulls out her cake and uncovers it.

It's covered in a light white frosting and smells delicious (despite not being chocolate). The waitress brings over a knife and some plates for us and Arlie begins slicing while the trio sing Happy Birthday to me.

Clint laughs because I actually blushed.

Arlie hands me the first slice of cake and I can see it's carrot cake with vanilla icing- and delicious.

I have no idea how she even found out that was my favorite.


	26. I'd Bet Everything

**OK- Part 2 of Iron Man 2, and we're catching the beginning of Thor here. :D I'm having so much fun writing Budapest right now and then it's Capsicle. Still not sure in the great debate of Bruce vs. Steve. You're all so convincing that it usually ends up being whichever argument I read last is the one I'm leaning towards. This is a problem. ;)**

**By the by- this chapter is partially inspired by Nienna Nir's "Nat's Boys." Go read it- it's on my favorites list.**

**So I'm thinking of getting Arlie a dog. Mostly because I love dogs and my own puppy (she's eight, really not a puppy any more, but that doesn't matter) is wonderful. I kind of want Clint to get her a dog from a shelter and train it (with help from Tasha and Phil, of course) to guard Arlie. Seems like something he would do. Of course, we're coming close to time for Avengers and I'm wondering if that's (since really the plot goes on without the dog) just something to leave out and maybe add in to an epilogue or something. I like dogs. What do you guys think?**

**And wow- you guys are seriously impressive because for the second day in a row, Reliant had over a thousand views. That is just...amazing. So please, read, review, request interludes, write about Steve vs. Bruce and whether or not Arlie should get a dog, and enjoy!**

* * *

**May 4th, 2010 (Natasha)**

I scan the computer before me and work on releasing the drone's control, but I can't quite manage it. I find myself wishing for Arlie again. I can, however, give Colonel Rhodes control over his own suit and monitor Stark.

I open up radio channels with Stark, Rhodes, and even Miss Potts. I notice Stark's readouts.

"Well done with the new chest piece," I tell him. "I'm reading significantly higher output and your vitals all look promising."

Stark feels the need to be sarcastic. "Yes, for the moment, I'm not dying. Thank you."

"What do you mean you're not dying?" comes Miss Pott's panicked voice. It's tone reminds me of Clint's when he called me after Monaco. "Did you just say you're dying?"

Stark hears her and responds "Is that you? No, I'm not. Not anymore."

"What's going on?"

"I was going to tell you, I didn't want you to alarm you."

"You were going to tell me? You really were dying?"

"You didn't let me."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I was going to make you an omelet and tell you."

I decide to cut in before this gets any farther, "Hey, hey. Save it for the honeymoon. You got incoming, Tony. Looks like the fight's coming to you."

"Great. Pepper?"

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm fine. Don't be mad, I will formally apologize-"

Pepper cuts him off, "I am mad!"

Stark continues "-when I'm not fending off a _Hammeroid_ attack."

The woman practically pouts, "Fine."

"We could've been in Venice."

"Oh, please."

I'm working on the computer and decide to just tune them out- clearly, they won't stop talking anytime soon.

I watch as Stark and Colonel Rhodes defeat the drones and Vanko (who managed to get his own suit- _just_ what we needed) and witness as Vanko self-destructs (for lack of a better term).

_This is going to be a shit ton of paperwork._

* * *

**May 5th, 2010**

"So what are you thinking?" Arlie asks on her phone from New York. Clint's got his own this time rather than having them bicker back and forth over who gets to talk. Three way calling is a blessing when you want to talk to the Barton siblings.

I can hear the faint sounds of a movie playing in the background, but don't bother to ask- Arlie and Clint have a habit of putting a movie on and then talking over it. I don't think I absorb more than 15% of any film when I watch with them.

"Well, we were right originally- he's definitely covering up for insecurity with some heavy narcissism."

Clint sighs and I can just see him leaning his head against the back of the couch, "I can't believe we're saying this."

"You're not," I reply, "We are."

"It's kind of like a study in contrasts," says Arlie, "He's everything he's not."

That sparked an idea, "Say that again."

"He's everything he's not?" Arlie said, questioning what I was doing.

"So how do we make someone who acts the opposite way you want him to, do what you want him to do?"

"Is this a trick question?" asked Clint.

"No, bird brain, she's serious," Arlie sighs. "From what you say, Tony Stark is a bit like a five year old kid. I remember this one kid in the orphanage when I was about twelve- tell him not to do something was a guarantee he'd do it."

"So we tell him not to do the Avengers," I say simply. It's the obvious way to go.

Arlie sounds skeptical, "You'd have to lie _pretty convincingly_ to make sure he doesn't think you're trying to pull this exact plan," I raise an eyebrow at her even if she can't see it. But she seems to detect my invisible disdain, "Good point."

"I can easily lie to Tony Stark- he has no doubt I dislike him- let him think I'd never in a million years recommend him for the Avengers Initiative. He'll be dying to get in on it."

"You know- if you get him invested enough, he could be team leader," Arlie adds.

"This is going to be the best birthday present Phil ever got from us," I could hear Clint grinning.

"And what exactly have you contributed?" Arlie asks, "Tasha and I did all the planning and plotting here."

"I played devil's advocate- made your plan fullproof." Arlie and I pause for a moment of silence, I roll my eyes and she snorts.

"Ok, Clint, if that makes you happy."

"It does, now munchkin, pass the remote- we missed the best part of _Jaws_."

"I'll see you guys in a week or so," I tell them as I hang up. I've got a few loose ends to wrap up in California and then I can go back to New York.

* * *

**May 6th, 2010**

"You're telling me he has _insecurity_ and you want me to _flambé_ him?" asks Fury as he reads through the secondary file I created.

"If you tell Tony Stark he can't do something he'll go out of his way to be the best at it. He is insecure, yes, but he also is determined. He wants to prove himself despite his insecurities."

"You're sure about this? I'll admit I don't want to actually _ask_ the man again- but will this _actually_ work, Romanoff?"

"I'm absolutely certain, sir."

"How certain?"

"I'd bet everything on it."

Fury is silent for one minute as he ponders that. A few years ago, my everything was not much and that statement wouldn't have had much weight, but now- now I have an everything and Fury knows I would not let anything on this Earth take it from me.

"Dismissed, Agent."

I rise from my chair and head out of the base.

Fury'll go with my plan and Stark will become an Avenger. I know it.

* * *

**May 7th, 2010**

I'm at the new hellicarrier when Coulson calls Fury.

"Sir," Phil's voice comes over the speaker, "We found it."

Fury's eye positively glows.

* * *

**May 19th, 2010**

"I'm bored," says Clint to me over the phone. "Come out and have dinner with me? It's just take out since I'm not allowed to leave- the warden's really strict."

"I am not," I tell him, "coming out to New Mexico just to have dinner with you since you're bored. I'm in Uzbekistan and _busy_. And don't call Phil "the warden"- Arlie'll hit you again."

"Not if she doesn't know. And I came out to visit you in California a couple times while you were dealing with Stark."

"What makes you think I'm not going to tell her? And you weren't on a job when you came to visit me."

"_Nat_! Come on- take my side just this once!"

"No."

He sighs, "Why do I introduce people to my sister? It's such a bad plan- I never get to do anything fun."

"Last week we had a movie marathon where you got to eat three large pizzas by yourself. You said it was the most fun you'd had in weeks."

"Well yeah, because you and Phil were in California and Arlie was in New York with me. The family was separated."

"Clint- I know you had fun before you met me, so I think you can manage to entertain yourself while I'm in Uzbekistan."

"I just miss you, I guess."

It's not often we admit it, so I let myself confess: "I miss you, too."

"Did I mention Phil's got a date?"

"Are you having Arlie research her again? Because you know how that turned out last time."

"She might be looking into a few things, but I didn't tell her to!"

"Sure- you just…_suggested_."

"Exactly, Romanoff."

"So who's the date?"

"Some cellist from Michigan. Janine, he called her. I didn't get a last name."

"Don't worry- that was plenty of information for Arlie to find her online."

"I know- don't tell Phil that, though."

"He'll find out eventually. I've got to go- I'll see you later, Barton."

"Good luck, Nat, be safe."


	27. Iago

**Yeah- so, it looks like Arlie is getting a dog. And, just for the next twenty four hours or so, I'm putting up a poll to decide the dog's name. You guys get to pick because while I care, I have no inclination one way or another, so whatever name has the most votes when I take down the poll (I'll probably put the Steve vs. Bruce one back up after I finish with the dog one just in case more of you wish to vote before I get to that writing stage) will be the name of Arlie's puppy.**

**So I'm trying to write more fight scenes in preparation for the Avengers. I'm still not 100% pleased with what I end up with, but I figure if I keep practicing it'll eventually come to me. Or it never will and you guys tell me to stop trying and stick with dialogue/character development stuff. **

**So here we have the end of Thor and the beginning of what I'm calling the Budapest incident. We're going to find out why exactly Tasha & Clint remember it very differently...and I'm still editing the following chapters for this a lot so they might be a bit later than you're used to (i.e.- not tomorrow). I will try everything to make it so I can put it up tomorrow but I have a doctor's appointment today for looking to get my wisdom teeth out and I have no idea how long that is going to take or what is going to be involved there. So not looking forward to it.**

**Anyways- read, review, PM me about anything and everything, and enjoy!**

* * *

**May 26th, 2010 (Clint)**

"You took all her stuff?" I ask Phil, my eyebrows raised. Couslon is usually very nice with the civilians and doesn't typically do things like confiscate their property.

"I _borrowed_ her research."

"Without permission?"

"I think someone once told me it's borrowing as long as you plan to give it back."

"Yeah- but that only applies to me. Arlie's going to be pissed at you."

"I know- but I'm giving it back as soon as the Agents are done with it."

"Arlie's still gonna be pissed. And so will Tasha."

"Why would Tasha be pissed?"

"Eh- mostly because it's another chick. She's got this girl solidarity thing. If it was some guy she'd probably be vaguely annoyed but if you take research and it's from a girl, she gets really huffy."

Phil thinks for a moment, "Anyway we can not tell them about this?"

"Only if we want it to blow up in our face later."

"Good point."

* * *

**May 27th, 2010**

I've always seen better from a distance, so when Phil tells me to watch over the hammer (and don't think I didn't lecture him for bringing me out here to guard a freakin' _hammer_) I climb up high and perch myself there for as long as I'm going to be on guard duty. Phil knows just how long I can sit still and do seemingly nothing (indefinitely) so he lets me be and tells me whenever food arrives.

I might have stolen some phones from the more annoying agents and used them to call and deliver obscene amounts of pizza. Which I then sometimes used borrowed credit cards (it's still borrowing even if you don't ask permission- as long as you give it back) to pay for. One particularly annoying agent's phone I used to crank call Fury. The Director'll probably know it was actually me, but I have no doubt Moss will have a meltdown when he realizes someone used his phone to dial Director Nick freakin' Fury.

As much as I can be patient for an undetermined amount of time, it doesn't mean I don't get bored while waiting.

I'm down in the van cleaning some weapons when I hear Phil's voice over the radio.

"We need eyes up high, with a gun."

I grab my bow instead and take a lift from a crane to get high enough.

"Barton," comes Phil's voice again, "Talk to me."

"You want me to slow him down, sir?" I ask, my arrow nocked and ready to fire. But that sounded too obedient, so I add "Or you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"

I never could control my smart mouth.

To Phil's credit, he rolls with it and just responds with, "I'll let you know."

I watch the guy mud wrestle with Moss and I'm tempted to laugh.

"You better call it, Coulson," I say to Phil. "Cuz I'm starting to root for this guy."

No answer comes and I wait, the guy always within reach of my arrow.

"Last chance, sir," I tell Phil as I realize they guy's going to do something to the hammer.

"Wait," Phil says quickly, "I wanna see this."

I stand there watching in the rain as the man reaches for the hammer. Something in the air is building up and it somehow manages to make me hold my breath, waiting. For what I don't know, but it seems wrong to breathe in this span of time as the man grasps the hammer.

He doesn't lift it.

Whoever this guy is, I begin to feel bad for him as he knees to the ground in defeat. No, more than defeat. There's something else there, some other emotion that I can't identify. If Arlie or Tasha were here they'd know what it was. Tasha would look at his micro expressions and tell you, and Arlie would somehow just feel it from the very air and _know_.

But Phil's voice crackles over the radio again, "Alright, show's over. Ground units, move in."

I let the bow string relax and watch as they take the guy away.

_Well, that was entertaining._

* * *

**May 28th, 2010**

It's early in the morning and Coulson is catching me up on "Dr. Donald Blake" and his associates.

"Just goes to show you- you shouldn't have taken that girl's stuff."

"Shut up, Barton."

"So what did Blake and Selvig do once they left?"

"Went out drinking."

"Well, be honest- if it were the two of us, we'd probably do the same."

"Sir- Agent Coulson, Agent Barton," another SHIELD grunt runs in, "At the storm site, there are new readings. The scientists want to get closer."

"Let's pack it up and move," says Phil, "Barton, stay here and guard the 0-8-4."

"Phil- it's a hammer, just call it a damn hammer!"

"Fine- guard the hammer." And he walks away.

Sometimes I hate my job.

A couple hours later, I'm still watching the hammer as Phil reports a freak storm at the site, and a thing like another Iron Man going on a rampage. It's destroying a town and I'm sitting uselessly watching as some scientists continue to poke and prod at a _hammer_.

Then something starts to happen- the scientists get all excited and worried and they talk faster and faster as a humming fills the air. I watch and suddenly the hammer flies off and into the sky- and far away.

_Well, damn_.

"Phil," I say, "You are never going to believe this."

* * *

**June 2nd, 2010**

"A hammer?" asks Arlie incredulously, "A _hammer_? You guys were in New Mexico for three weeks so you could babysit a _hammer_?"

"That's not even the best part," I tell her, "Go on, Phil- tell her who the hammer belongs to. Go on." I poke him in his ribs from where I sit on the couch.

"Thor," replies Phil, rolling his eyes.

Arlie is silent, "_Who_?"

"Thor- you know, the ancient Norse god that no one believes in?"

"So someone named themselves after this Norse-"

I cut her off, "Nope- he _is_ the god."

"He's a god?"

"Yes," comes Phil's response.

"I'm sorry- come again?"

"He's a god," I tell my sister.

She's quiet for a little while and then practically moans, "I wish Tasha were here."

"Well, she'll be here tomorrow," says Phil, reassuring my sister that the world _hasn't_ been completely turned on its head.

"And then Strike Team Delta is off to Budapest."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Phil tells her. "But that mission should be rather quick."

* * *

**June 4th, 2010**

"This mission is _not_ going to be quick," I tell Nat when we find that the man we were to assassinate is not only dealing in drug trafficking, but also human. We've got no idea where the people are. We could always try torture, but with guys like this you can never guarantee they'll give you accurate information. Besides, we like to keep things clean. And just to add to our frustration, and one of our informants, a little girl about seven years old, has just been taken

Nat and I get touchy when kids are taken away- brings back some bad memories.

"No- but we will make sure Andre Vastag's death isn't quick, either."

I say nothing, just nod.

"We need to find out where he's taken them," Nat says, "We need a plan and we need one fast, before he sells off or takes anyone else."

"They've spotted you already and know you're here," I remind her, "You can't go in like you usually do- they know you're after them."

"But they haven't spotted you," she says. I get nervous- I'm not like Nat, I don't get up close and personal with people, I can't tell you nearly as much information from an interrogation as Nat can. She's better at this and I can see better from a distance.

"Nat-"

"I know, but it's all we've got."

I sigh. "We'd better get to it then."

* * *

**June 6th, 2010**

I'm standing in the middle of a room filled with criminals, and I'm not allowed to give myself away. Nat told me to act like one of them, and I'm reaching back into my memories of those days with Barney, when I _was_ a criminal.

I don't like the feeling, but no one is really suspecting me of anything but what I'm pretending to be. I'm acting as an assassin for hire- not Hawkeye, but someone else Nat has created and dubbed Iago, after some Shakespeare character I couldn't be bothered to read about.

"Now, we need to make Vastag want to talk to you," Nat's voice comes in my ear, she's off searching various buildings near this one that Valstag owns or can be connected to while simultaneously coaching me through what is typically her job, "a man like him is always looking for a good assassin for hire. I need you to go to the bar, not next to Vastag but maybe one or two seats down."

I follow her directions, not bothering to respond for nerves. I'm not sure if Nat's techniques will work since I'm not a gorgeous flame-haired woman, but she's the best bet I've got if I want to do this so I listen.

"Order a drink- Jack, straight up, you're trying to give a certain impression." Nat knows I like beer best, but I order the Jack anyways and drink it slowly.

"Ignore Vastag completely; people like him hate not being noticed so he'll seek you out so you pay attention to him. He's got an ego he likes having people pander to. Don't, until I tell you to."

"I have not seen your face before," Vastag comes up and speaks to me in Hungarian. Fortunately, I'm pretty good with languages and I learned this one years ago.

"I prefer most people to not see my face."

"Ah," continues Vastag, "You are a behind-the-scenes sort of man. I see."

"Yes- I work in the shadows and follow directions," I let him know I'm an assassin for hire.

"And just what might your name be, my friend? I may call you "friend," yes? I feel we have much in common."

_Well, look at that, he's trying to hire me_.

"I go by Iago. But my friends can call me what they like."

"Is that so? Come with me, Iago, I wish to get to know you better."

And he leads me away down a dark hall.

_Oh shit_.

"Clint- go with it, don't give yourself away," Nat coaches in my ear. But I'm one of the few people who can hear emotion in her voice and right now: she's panicking.

* * *

**June 7th, 2010**

I wake up confused- I vaguely remember a fight with some guards, and getting a needle jabbed into my neck. I notice that my hands and wrists are tied together and my ankles are tied to a chair. There is one strong band of rope across my chest keeping me upright. Then I realize I can't see. There's a bag over my head and the material is rough and rubbing against the cuts and bruises that I can feel scattered over my face. I try listening but all I can really hear is my heart thudding in my ears.

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!_

The comm that connected me to Nat is gone, and I can feel that they've also searched me while I was out- my hidden knives, guns, and various other weapons are gone. However, I've still got my suit on.

_OK, things are looking up a little._

I take a few slow, deep breaths. I need to calm down and stop the blood rushing in my ears. I need to hear if anyone else is in the room and then begin working my way out of these ropes. Chances are, they've been waiting for me to wake up, so I'm probably being watched. If there is another person in the room, that means they probably don't have video surveillance on me and if they do, it's not watched consistently. If there is no one in the room, they are either idiots or they've got a tape on me. I'm not sure which is the option I prefer right now.

I hear something shift to my left. One guy. Judging by the noise, it sounds like he might be sitting down on a chair facing me. He probably hasn't noticed I'm awake yet. I don't hear anyone else in the room and I quiet my breathing in an attempt to hear anyone else inhaling. Nothing but the one guy. Ok- here goes.

I pretend to wake with a start- knocking the chair backwards. It causes my arms and hands, tied behind my back, to go numb for a while as they hit the floor and have my full weight on top of them afterwards.

The guys laughs at me and I hear him walk closer. Shit, he sounds massive.

He lifts up the chair and I wait for the right angle before slamming my head back into his. I feel some wetness and know I at least broke his nose. Hopefully, I shoved the splinters into his brain and he'll drop like a sack of potatoes. He certainly made a large thud when he fell to the ground, but I'm still not upright on the chair so I fall back on top of him. I roll forward so I'm on my knees with the chair still attached to me. I need to work fast.

I detach my cuff links with some minor contortion (thank god for those years in the circus) and use them. I have some special cuff links that can become tiny knives and their serrated edges work through the rope at a slow but steady pace. I need to go faster, though, so I also try and dislocate my shoulder. Not as easy as one would think. But if I could dislocate it, I could strip off some of the ropes binding my arms. The cuff links aren't cutting it and I finally manage to pop my arm out of my socket.

I praise the name of every single acrobat and contortionist and circus performer who ever taught me anything as I twist and turn my way out of the ropes. Eventually I'm only attached by my ankles and the band across my chest but I'm too slow- I can hear someone running towards me from the hall.

A man dashes into the room and comes towards me. Those cuff links, though, are still in my hands and I slash his carotid artery with one. It's pretty shallow and I'm not sure I've managed to cut all the way through the artery wall, but the guy drops like a stone and I manage to grab his gun from his belt.

_Well, damn- he couldn't have had a knife?_

It won't take much longer for me to have a full out fire fight on my hands and I need to get out, find the kidnapped people, and kill Vastag.

Not necessarily in that order.

_I wonder where Nat is._


	28. Not Necessarily In That Order

**Ok- so we left Clint in a bit of hot water, there. He's been compromised and we're really not sure exactly what's happening with Tasha (well, we can all probably guess she's working on saving his ass while rolling her eyes because he was idiotic enough to get caught, but that's neither here nor there). Anyways- I'm trying to work on my action writing so please give loads of feedback (even if it's just: this action stuff isn't really your forte, Cuppa, maybe you should stick with dialogue). Also- I don't speak Hungarian or Russian, so if I've got something wrong here, please tell me and I'll fix it.**

**Arlie's getting a puppy when Clint and Tasha get home. The name poll is up and I'm planning on taking it down around midnight tonight. Then the Steve vs. Bruce poll will be back up and staying until we start writing Captain America, which with the way things are going, should be a few chapters from now. On that front- before swapping polls, Bruce was making a comeback and it's pretty much neck and neck between the two boys. I'm really struggling to decide. There's a lot of wonderful Steve/OCs out there (check out Crime Scene Fairy's Bohemia if you get the chance- it's fabulous and on my favorite list) so I kind of want to give Bruce some love now. On the other hand, Captain America is my favorite Avenger. He's actually my second favorite superhero in general (after Superman- gotta love a classic). So there's all that. I think I could write Arlie equally well with either.**

**It's a struggle.**

**So read, review, enjoy, correct my Hungarian, PM me your thoughts, vote for the dog's name, ect. **

**Thanks everyone!**

* * *

**June 7th, 2010 (Clint)**

_Bad. This is very bad. So very very bad. Arlie's going to kill me._

That last thought causes a pang- my sister needs me. I cannot let her down, and I am dangerously close to doing the one thing guaranteed to make her disappointed in me:

Dying.

I'm fairly certain Nat is coming for me but in the mean time I am in a facility whose exact location is unknown to me, several guards are coming down the hall since they've noticed my escape attempt, and I've only got one gun and some sharp cuff links.

_Time to get creative._

I cut the rope across my chest quick as I can and then strip off my suit jacket and tie. The tie I can use for strangulation if necessary- Nat taught me some cool fighting techniques that she usually uses a wire for, but my tie will due for now. I take the rope I've cut myself out of and examine it- there are still several long pieces of it which I tie together (after helping to secure various circus tents among other things for years, I can guarantee you cannot untie my knots unless I want you to) for one longer piece of rope. The yellow thick rope sparks some memory and I'm suddenly flashing back to reading a story to Arlie one day when we were in the orphanage- Rapunzel- and Arlie asking me why the princess didn't just use some rope to escape instead of waiting around. She kept insisting it had to hurt having her hair pulled on like that.

_OK- time to find the tower window so I can let down my hair_.

I rip the jacket and wrap some strips around my hands- it'll be useful if I get into a fist fight and also if I have to use the rope (I already have rope burn around my wrists from struggling out of the bonds)-I have a surprisingly low tolerance for rope burn considering everything. I can handle getting shot at this point like a walk in the park- but rope burn? Not a chance.

I want to find my weapons- they'll be stashed somewhere, and I find myself desperately wishing for my bow. I couldn't take it with me to the cover- too identifiable for one thing, and for another, Nat said it wouldn't go with the tux.

I wrap the rope around me in a sort of harness so it's out of my way but there if I need it, and walk to the open door cautiously and take a look around while holding the gun out.

I see two goons heading towards me and shoot both of them in the leg. They go down and I dash into the hall. I walk up to them quickly and take their weapons before they figure out they can still use them on me.

I've got three guns, four knives, and a canister of pepper spray- the kind they use on bears.

_Things are looking up._

I gag both men with shreds of their pants I cut off and leave them behind. I walk in the direction they came from, figuring that that'll be evil goon central, but also the most likely direction of the exit. No one keeps their prisoners near the front door.

Another guard comes around the corner suddenly and manages to fire off a shot that nicks my shoulder before I gun him down. I duck into an empty room and assess the wound- it's bleeding a lot, but I don't think anything major was hit. I grab the cummerbund Tasha had forced me to wear and wrap it around the injury- I wonder if that was why she made me wear it. I decide that if I make it out of this, I'll take all of her fashion advice without compliant from now on.

_Well, that's actually never going to happen, but it's a good promise regardless._

I dash across the hall and hear someone coming, so I duck into another room.

This one is not empty.

I'm about to open fire when I realize that the clanging sound was not people standing up from chairs but rather dogs' cages packed tight with big dogs who are totally silent at the sight of me.

I think it over- our intelligence on Vastag, while lacking the human trafficking info, did finger him as a drug lord, gang leader, and supplier of dog fighting rings. It was the dogs that got him his start in the criminal business world, and while he certainly doesn't need to with all his other business dealings, he continues to train dogs for fights.

These dogs in front of me are typically starved, abused, and even drugged in order to make them as aggressive as possible.

_Well, damn- is there any living thing this guy doesn't offend? He's got humans, dogs, I wouldn't be surprised if he's torturing kittens somewhere. Damn. _

I consider something- releasing the dogs could provide a much-needed distraction for me, or it could get me turned into dog chow. I'm not sure if they've been trained not to attack any human, or just the humans who train them, I know they're trained to attack each other. Each dog has his own crate, but they're big guys and most are forced to lie down and not move at all in order to fit.

Then I had a thought: _if the dogs are in this warehouse, are the people?_

I'm still debating on releasing the dogs or not when I hear some people coming. Just my luck, they walk into my room.

Decision made, I open the cages closest to me and let the dogs out- they immediately go for each other's throats and suddenly the once quiet room is filled with barks and growls and the sound of dogs gunning to kill each other. In the chaos the three guys who walked in are unable to get close to me and one at least got bit by one of the dogs for getting in his way. That's probably going to get infected or give the guy rabies or something.

I jump on top the cages and break for the door. Barreling the three guys out of the way with a couple of bullets that the dogs don't even notice and a straight-out tackle to the ground for the one left standing, I get out of the room and book it- no longer trying to actively avoid anyone. I'm just running.

I can still hear the dogs.

I need to find the people, figure out where they are somehow- and to do that, I think I need to find some goons and question them. I'm passing by what looks to be barracks and I'm coming to the conclusion that the goons live here full-time.

They'll know.

I find another three guys and take down two. The third I throw to the floor with a solid hit across the face with the butt of the gun. He's still conscious, but his cheekbone is broken.

I put my fingers up against the broken and bleeding cheek and lightly press down. The guy groans.

"Where are the people? Where are the _kids_?" I ask him, letting up the pressure. He doesn't answer immediately so I press down again. "_Where are they_?"

He shouts out and caves "Down the hall- third door after the intersection. _Please_!"

I get up and leave him lying on the ground behind me, but not before knocking him out. He'll thank me for it later.

I run down the hall and see the intersection he spoke about- and that's when I notice something weird.

Over a hundred half-starved crazed women and children and a few men are kicking and biting and clawing at about a dozen goons who are trying to restrain them.

_What the hell?_

I take out a few goons and get more than a few hits from the people I was trying to break out. They're scared and in a panic- unable to tell friend from foe and I'm waiting for one of the kids to get trampled under it all.

"SÓLYOMÚR!" (MR. SÓLYOM!) I hear someone shout- it's the name I had been going by for the cover and I turn to see the little seven-year-old who had been informing us of Vastag's movements. Some of the best spies are orphaned children on the street and she was running up to me now, chattering at full speed in Hungarian about all the stuff she had learned. I'm good with Hungarian, but she's talking so fast and it's so loud that before I even realize what's happening she's got a group of ragtag children around me and she's telling them how I'll lead them out and away from "a rossz emberek" (the bad people).

"How did you get out?" I ask her in Hungarian, and she begins to talk about how Sólyomńe (Mrs. Sólyom) came and told them to get out as fast as they could while she looked for me.

_Nat's here; there is a god._

I ask which way Sólyomńe went and the girl points to the left and asks which way the exit is. I say I'm not sure, but I promise I will do everything I can to get her out.

I wish I could promise her that she _will_ get out- but I've learned never to deal in absolutes.

Ok- so which way is out? I begin asking around to see if anyone remembers anything about how they were brought in, but I get a confusing babble of children and the adults are just as disoriented and eventually I decide that wasn't going to get me anywhere.

I go right on a whim.

I find two adults who look more steady and calm than the others and give them the two extra guns I have, I give some others the knives. I'm now back down to having one gun and there's over a hundred people I'm trying to defend.

_Shit. Quick mission my ass- Phil, I'm having a long talk with you when I get back!_

Some guards come out of one doorway and before I can say a word the adults with guns are shooting and the other captives are shouting and we're never going to get out of here at this rate.

"Fuss!" (Run!)

We storm down the hall and I'm not even sure how many guards the people behind me attacked. They were fighting for their freedom and they were wild- I certainly wasn't going to get in their way.

I need to find Nat, contact SHIELD, get these people out, and kill Vastag.

Not necessarily in that order.

We come up on what looks to maybe be an exit and I signal everyone to stop and be silent. I'm relieved when it works, but I've still got over a hundred people and most of them are children. I peek out the doorway.

A loading dock, swarming with guards- someone must have managed to radio that we were getting out. I counted fifteen. They're nervous though, and, really, there should be more.

It's a sure sign Nat's causing havoc. I motion one of the adults closer.

"Adj a pisztolyt," (Give the gun). The woman hands it over slowly, watching my face carefully. She's as skittish as any of the foals we used to get at the circus for Kelly to train. I give her a small smile.

"Vagyok a jó," (I'm good.) she looks unconvinced. "A fegyverek," (With weapons.)I add as I point at the gun. She nods slowly and backs away. I look around for a good vantage point to shoot from- there are some high windows and exposed beams on the ceiling. If I can get up there, I can shoot easily. I untie the rope I've still got around me and tie a knife to weight it down on one end. I throw the knife over one of the beams and let it fall to the ground. I give the knife back to someone and create a loop on one end of the rope. Passing the other end through it, I've got a lassoed beam and a rope to climb. Even with all my bumps and bruises I easily clamber up it and soon I'm lying on my stomach on the beam and looking out the window. I motion the people to back away from the door and they do so. I'm hoping that once bullets go flying they won't get shot. I know some of them will.

I take aim at my first target, going for the man who appears to be in charge- he's monitoring the others and every once in a while giving orders and radioing in. He goes down without a chance to even scream. Others swarm around him to check on him and I take them out quickly. I've finished the bullets in my first gun and let it fall to the ground as I pull out the second. The guards are now looking around for the shooter and haven't spotted me yet. I make three more drop (eleven down, four to go) before they open fire in the general direction of the front door. I hear a couple of the people below me get hit, but I manage to get one guy in his arm (he won't be shooting any time soon) and other in his shoulder which only leaves two men left in fighting condition. I drop down from the rope and keep shooting. I'm wasting bullets, I know, but hopefully Nat will show up soon.

She does.

In a sudden flash of red and black, I see the two guards are down and Nat is standing in the open air, motioning everyone to follow her. I dash up to her quickly and without a word we both look each other over. Her eyes linger on my shoulder and I catalog a broken wrist, a twisted ankle, at least one cracked rib, and an uncounted number of bruises on her. We don't say anything, taking about a millisecond for our eyes meet and let each other know _I'm ok, I was worried about you, We'll get out, I love you._

"What the hell happened to you?" I say.

"Vastag is dead," she informs me.

"Let's get out of here," is all I can reply with.

"We need to be careful- there's some dogs loose in the building, they might have gotten out."

"Really?" I say, trying to be surprised. Nat sees right through it.

"You released the dogs?" she asks before slapping me upside the head, "идиот," (idiot).

It's always bad when Nat starts talking in Russian. It either means I've done something incredibly stupid or she's really hurt. I've picked up a lot of Russian curse words from Nat over the years.

"I've contacted SHIELD," she says, "There should be someone waiting to help all these people in a suburb nearby- it's only about a mile that way," she points, "and we can get ourselves out under our own power, I think."

I nod. We begin rounding up the people and explain it's not over quite yet- we lead them to the nearest suburb and meet a SHIELD Agent there. After confirming his identity, he tells us he's stationed about five miles away and can easily take care of all the former captives. Tasha and I just seek out the nearest airport.

We want to go home.


	29. In That Order

**So now we get Tasha's POV of Budapest. And we're going to see why New York made her think of Budapest, and why she and Clint remember it differently. I'm really intrigued writing Tasha, because she keeps such a tight lid on her emotions and becomes incredibly focused in order to avoid them. I'm trying to slip in things that let you know what she's feeling while still remaining true to her character- are you guys getting that?**

**So Steve is now in the lead for the poll and I'm just kind of throwing up my hands at this point and my plan is this: whoever is in the lead of the poll when I get to that chapter is going to be the one I write with Arlie. Simply because at this point, I have become equally convinced in favor of both men. They are both so wonderful. Maybe someday I'll write an OC story of the Avengers that is not Arlie, but who gets to be romantically with whoever loses the poll. But, the real thing here is: this story was written not for my OC to end up romantically with one of the Avengers, but rather to discuss family and the relationship between family- specifically siblings. It's a relationship that I think is often underrated or simply not explored enough or appreciated enough in movies/books/tv shows. So that's why I'm so wishy washy about who Arlie ends up with- it doesn't matter so much, because it's not a main pillar of the story.**

**There was no dog name in the lead so I'm going to close my eyes and point. I have a couple of ideas for the dog, so I'm going to run with it.**

**Again, I don't speak Hungarian or Russian. So if any of you do and you notice a mistake, tell me & I'll fix it.**

**Anyways- read, review, PM me, request interludes, enjoy! (And if you haven't voted yet- you might want to because I'm coming up on the chapters with Steve SOON so it's your last chance!)**

* * *

**June 6th, 2010 (Natasha)**

My first thought when I hear Clint fighting over the comm is _please, no_.

But that quickly makes way for: _that мудак!_

I hear him grunting and suddenly there seems to be a large _bang_!

_Don't be dead don't be dead if that мудак is dead I'll kill him myself!_

I hear shifting and movement and I'm not quite sure but I think Clint's alive and that's enough because now I'm pissed. I'm a furious shade of anger that is only matched by my hair and _I will show them why I'm the Black Widow_.

I slip out of the base Clint and I had set up in a tiny apartment in the artsy section of Budapest- where a lot of students and artists live (they're less likely to take notice of odd things we might do or the hours we keep). And I book it the two blocks to where Clint had been. I'm just in time to see Clint get loaded into a truck in a back alley (_Could you be more cliché?_) and then I'm watching the truck pull away.

I need to follow that truck. I don't have time for the questions a cab driver would ask, and I don't have money to pay for one either. I dashed out of the base with my weapons and little else. I walk over to a car and break in. The alarm goes off, but I can't be bothered. I quickly hot wire the vehicle and get on the road. Police are going to be after me in a moment, no doubt, but then again, alarms near the home of a crime boss like Vastag are very rarely noticed.

I follow the truck at a safe distance and as it pulls further and further into the outskirts of the city I struggle to remain unnoticeable. Eventually, as they get to an area filled with warehouses I ditch the car in a side alley. Following the van on foot as best I can, I clamber up a fire escape to get a bird's eye view. I follow the van to one empty warehouse that's one of the biggest I've ever seen. They take Clint in and I notice how he is completely slumped over and unresponsive.

_I hope they're not here to dispose of the body_.

But they all go in and the truck pulls away without them, so I can assume that Clint is probably alive. The comm equipment I left at the apartment, but I brought a phone with me to contact SHIELD.

_This is going to get messy_.

I dial Phil.

When he picks up I talk over his greeting of "Coulson" and get straight to the point.

"Barton's been compromised, I'm getting him out now. Where can we take the captives when we're done?"

"Location?"

"Very outskirts of the city."

"Number of captives?"

"Unknown."

"We've got a guy who works a couple miles out of the city- he can meet you in a suburb outside."

"I'm about forty-five miles East of the base we set up. What are my options?"

"There is a suburb about a mile further east from you. We'll have him meet you there. He'll use the fifteenth Agent signal."

"Understood."

"Tasha- where is Barton?"

"He's a building away- I'll get him out soon."

"I know you will- just don't punish him too badly for getting caught."

"I will do what I consider necessarily."

Phil sighs, "I know. Good luck, Agent Romanoff."

I hang up. I've got a Hawk to find. I climb down from the roof I was sitting on and examine the front entrance of the building. Security cameras hidden in the building's eaves and a triple lock with a combo and card swipe on the front door.

I've never been a front-entrance kind of girl anyways.

I creep along the side of the building until I find a small widow that leads to a basement. It's locked on the inside, but it's just a basic latch and I can jimmy it open easily. It's a tight fit, but I squeeze through and land lightly on the ground.

I hold my breath to prevent myself from sneezing- it's a basement, and _clearly_ no one uses it.

I amend my statement as I look around at all the drugs stored down here. Ok- no one _cleans_ it.

I pull out some small tracking devices SHIELD provided and stick them on several of the bundles. That'll make Hill's day and perhaps help us break up some more of this drug ring.

* * *

**June 7th, 2010**

I unlock the basement door just after midnight and listen carefully before opening it. Not carefully enough, since there was a guard standing just outside it. He moves to grab me, but I activate my Widow's Bites and the electricity quickly knocks him out. I place his body in the basement and shut the door behind him.

I meet up with another guard about two hallways down, and he manages to start talking on his radio before I get close enough to knock him out with a kick to his temple.

I hear the radio crackling with other voices, but I don't have a solution for this particular problem so I move on.

Another guard comes around the corner at the same time as me and actually starts to apologize for bumping into me before he realizes I'm not one of his coworkers. I've already got my fist on the way to his gut before he thinks to fight back. He doubles over and I pull out my gun to knock the back of his head. He drops the ground like a ton of bricks and I move on.

Two more guards happen across me at a run about a minute later- clearly in response to the radio signal the other had started to send.

I toss some smoke bombs at them and with one kick take out both of their legs. One's head hits the floor so hard he's knocked unconscious and the other tries to get up. I'm not interested in playing fair, however, so I kick him in the temple while he's still down and he's out of my way.

I begin running- checking doors as I come across them. I come across rooms with drugs, rooms used to synthesize the drugs, offices, empty rooms, bedrooms, _a pool room_. It's a labyrinth in here, but I was raised in the Red Rooms and those were built to be disorienting- part of our training and conditioning. This warehouse's map is slowly unfolding in my mind as I run along halls and rooms. I finally come across one large room that contains easily a hundred people.

The prisoners.

"Ez rendben," (It's OK), I say, "Azért vagyok itt, hogy segítsek." (I'm here to help you.)

"Sólyomńe!" (Mrs. Sólyom!) shouts one childish voice, I look around and find her- the girl who had been helping us. She waves at me from behind the bars they had trapped her in and it's such a strange contrast- the smiling, waving girl behind the cold iron bars- that I'm momentarily stunned.

She chatters to me about the guards, how many she's seen, how often they come in, what the other prisoners have told her about them and Vastag. Apparently, there are very few guards actually in the base in order to keep from too much notice. They estimate about a hundred, she says.

"Jó. Nagyon jó." (Good. Very good.)

I manage to pick the locks on their cages and let them out.

In the best Hungarian I can manage, I tell them to get out. I'm going to go find my partner, but they can get out. The guards will probably follow me, I explain, so they shouldn't have to deal with too many. I tell them to fight for their freedom, their lives, if they see a guard. I then slip down the hallway and come to an intersection. I go left, thinking that would lead deeper into the warehouse and that would be the most likely place to find Clint.

About forty paces later, I instead found about sixty guards.

_Проклятие! (Damn it!)_

I duck into an open doorway as they open fire. I pull a desk that was in the room and shove it partially out of the door. Ducking behind it, I'm safely hidden by my barricade and with better visibility than if I had to shoot from the doorway. I begin shooting one of the guns I'd brought with me and watch as several guards fall to the ground. They may have numbers on their side, but I've got technique. I've been trained for killing since I was five years old and now it's just muscle memory. I don't even really think as I fire until my gun is down to about five bullets. Then I walk up to the remaining guards as if I haven't a concern in the world. One becomes my human shield as I take his gun and begin firing from behind him. Once I'm close enough, I shove him into one of his comrades and jump up to wrap my thighs around the neck of another one. They both fall to the ground and I'm standing in a perfect position to shoot one man in front of me and elbow one behind me in the nose. Both fall to the ground and a detached part of me thinks that the one I elbowed might be dead from bone splinters going into his brain.

It's now me and about thirty guards and they all converge on me. Those within reach serve as both shields and weapons. I steal their knives, their guns, anything they have, off their belts and use it to knock down their fellows who unwittingly shoot them while trying to get at me.

I'm down to about twenty guards when one comes from a blind spot and slams his fist into my ribcage. I hear a crack and know I've got some damage. They've realized the guns aren't accomplishing anything other than friendly fire so they drop them to have an all-out brawl with me. I jump up and wrap my thighs around one's neck as I throw a knife at another. The one beneath me's neck snaps while my stolen knife embeds itself in his colleague's stomach.

I land on my feet as the body beneath me collapses and punch a man's temple. He falls to the ground.

I can hear them whispering words like "ördög" (devil) and "szörnyeteg" (monster) as three more fall to the ground around me. I'm down to about thirteen guards as I feel one manage to break my wrist. I'm sure I'd hear the snap if the fight wasn't so loud. The injury only makes me fight harder, though, as I kick another man's legs out from under him and his head violently hits the concrete floor. The next guard I stab with a knife I picked off the belt of a guard on the right of me. I go to kick another but they grab my leg and pull. I use the momentum to wrap around my attacker and twist the man's neck with my legs. He drops to the ground but has managed to twist my ankle. I grab a gun off someone's belt and send some Widow's Bites at two more guards. Between the bullets and the electricity I'm soon the only one left standing in the area.

_Where the hell is that слабоумный (imbecile)?_

Suddenly, I hear growling. I look up to see a few dogs- half-rabid, starving Pitt Bulls that look about ready to tear me apart. I don't run- running means they'll chase me, and I don't want that. Hopefully they'll be more interested in the men I've dropped than me. They begin investigating the bodies on the ground and fighting with each other over the prone men.

The four dogs growl and snap and wrestle over the dead bodies and look ready to finish off those who aren't. These men aren't good men and the dogs have been horribly mistreated by them- they would have probably made wonderful pets if they had better owners. But I can't bring myself to help either party because there really isn't anything I can do without risking myself and the mission. Not to mention any chance of finding Clint.

I feel a little sick at this point, and I slowly back away.

I need to find Vastag, kill him, and then find my partner.

In that order.

I head towards the center of the complex, banking on that perhaps being the main office or something similar and I find noise coming from one room in particular. There's shouting in angry Hungarian and I hear the faintest sound of pacing. _This must be the place._

I open the door and walk in with my gun. The man in front of me is Vastag and with one bullet between the eyes, he's down.

It takes about ten seconds for the other men in the room to realize what's happened and by that time I've already grabbed a chair from next to me and smashed it across one thug's face. The chair hits two more men before breaking and then I use a chair leg as a baton and tap several men right on their chins. Hard. The force of it causes their heads to snap back and their skull to ring (I've had it done to me- not pleasant) and they're in disoriented piles on the ground.

Dropping the chair leg, I take out my gun again (I've only got two bullets left- I've been keeping track) and head out to find my дебил (moron) of a partner.

After walking around for about five minutes, I hear, faintly in the distance, the sound of shooting, and I am suddenly without a doubt that my moronic partner is in the thick of it. I follow the sound of a gun fight and find myself looking at a shootout- two guards are left standing around at least a dozen others on the ground and I can see my partner in the rafters shooting at them. I decide to wrap around (this is why you always should know or at least figure out the probable layout of a building) and come out a smaller side door. No guard is posted here and I decide to wrap this up since I'm beginning to realize just how _tired_ I am.

_Let's finish this quickly._

I rush the two guards and take the closest one down with a thigh grip around his neck. The other is quickly subdued with a kick to the solar plexus and a solid punch on his temple. Clint comes out after a few moments and I notice all the people who had been imprisoned there. I motion them towards me and am relieved to see they are more or less in the condition I had left them in. I had hoped that by releasing them I might divvy up the guards some and thus help our chances of getting some out, but I never expected this many to survive.

Clint stands before me as I check him over. He's been pretty bruised and battered and has some rope burn on his wrists (he's got to be hating that- anything wrong with his hands or wrists bothers him since it affects his ability to shoot his bow) and his suit is torn to pieces. The cummerbund is tied around his shoulder and I look closely and see blood.

The idiot got shot on me.

Again.

I wait for him to finish looking me over before our eyes briefly meet. _I'm alright, I was worried about you too, I've got a plan for getting out, I love you too._

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks. I'm about ready to smack him. What happened to me? I had to go in after my partner since he got himself compromised- that's what!

"Vastag is dead," I tell him as calmly as I can.

"Let's get out of here," and I've never heard a better plan. Then I remember the rabid dogs.

"We need to be careful- there's some dogs loose in the building, they might have gotten out."

"Really?" Clint says, his voice pitched high. He's faking his surprise and all of a sudden I know _exactly_ why dogs are aimlessly wandering the halls of the warehouse.

"You released the dogs?" I don't bother waiting for an answer before slapping the back of his head, "идиот," (idiot).

"I've contacted SHIELD," I say to prevent myself from doing further violence to my partner, "There should be someone waiting to help all these in a suburb nearby- it's only about a mile that way," I point eastward, "and we can get ourselves out under our own power, I think."

Clint nods and we begin rounding up everyone who had escaped with us. We're dirty, exhausted, and leading what looks like a group of refuges, but we're alive and we'll be home within the next twelve hours if I have anything to say about it.

* * *

**June 8th, 2010**

We're on the plane to New York when Clint decides he feels well enough to talk instead of sleep.

"I think I should get Arlie a dog," he says out of the blue. I had been planning on ignoring him, but this statement makes me look over at him with some raised eyebrows. "I mean," he explains, "Not like one of those dogs at the warehouse, but a _good_ dog. We could train it. It could be a guard dog for her. We could call it Shield," he smirks.

"As long as it's not a Pitt Bull," I say- shuddering at the memory of those dogs fighting over the dead and unconscious bodies.

Clint nods once, decisively, "Done."

My sluggish brain suddenly picks up on a problem with this plan, "Does Arlie's apartment complex even _allow_ dogs?"

Barton just shrugs, "I'll talk to the supervisor about it. I'm sure I can convince him."

"You going to make him an offer he can't refuse?"

The delighted smile Clint gives me is worth the last twenty four hours fighting for him and our mission.

It's also worth the three hours of watching the movie on my own time.

I use his temporarily speechlessness to close my eyes and curl up in the seat. I want to sleep. Clint puts his arm around me and shifts me so I'm in a more comfortable position and the next thing I know, he's shaking my shoulder and telling me we're in New York.

"We'll pick out a dog tomorrow with Arlie- in the meantime, shower and sleep. If Fury tries to debrief us now, I think we both might just kill him."

_We'd get away with it, too._

* * *

**Fun Fact: the name Clint & Tasha use for their cover here is Sólyom- which is a Hungarian last name that means hawk. :D I love little details like that so I have a tendency of sprinkling them in.**


	30. A Bit of a Past

**Wow- guys, I am so sorry this is later than usual. I literally just finished writing this five minutes ago. We've yet again caught up to me so I have no future chapters written, which means I might be slowing down. Add on top of that I've got a new project in the works (a Supernatural multi-chapter fic since I've just started watching the series and have _fallen in love_) and I'm pretty swamped. But, I promise- this story will be finished. I will never let a story go unfinished or even wait too long (a month is too long, if you're wondering what I'm judging by here) because that bothers me so much. **

**Anyways- Arlie's getting a puppy!**

* * *

**June 20th, 2010 (Arlie)**

"So _you guys_ are giving me a surprise?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at the three goofballs who are leading me out of my apartment complex with promises of lunch and then a surprise.

The fact they're trying to surprise me at all is a surprise- normally I'm the one with the surprises, little and big, and so to have them turn the tables is odd. I'm not sure how I feel about it.

"Just go with it- you know Tasha wouldn't let me do anything bad, and Phil would make sure it's nothing too fun," my brother assures me with a smirk. I'm not reassured either way, but I grab my keys anyways and follow them out.

"So where are we getting lunch?" I ask in an attempt to get my mind off the impending surprise.

"I thought we could try that Middle Eastern place," suggests Tasha, looking around at us, seeking someone's opinion.

I hum, "Oooh, that sounds good- let's go there."

"Sounds like we're having Middle Eastern," Clint practically bounces down the street. The rest of us follow with various levels of amusement.

After lunch my brother grabs my hand and practically drags me for seven blocks until he stands before a building. It was big, and grey, and had a sign of a dog and cat out front with the words "animal shelter" written on it.

"I don't get it," I say after several moments of my brother looking at me like I should have had some great revelation.

"We're getting you a dog for a present," Phil remarks.

"WHAT?" I shriek. I look at my brother, who I'm sure is the origin of this idea. When I was a kid, I dreamed of Barney and Clint finding me and we'd all live in a big house together with a dog. I'm not sure if I wanted the dog because I liked dogs or just because that seemed like something that would make being with my brothers even better. Barney isn't coming back, and if he does, I'm kicking him to the curb. He made me feel like nothing and treated Clint like trash. There are many things I'm willing to forgive, but that is not one of them. The dog dream fell along the wayside when I gave up on fairy tales and, eventually, myself. Then I started to get back to being me, and Clint found me, and I just hadn't bothered to pick up the dream of a dog with the rest of what I was regaining. Clint's looking at my face carefully, as if not sure how this idea will be received. My big brother wants to get me a puppy as a present and I feel my eyes begin to dampen with tears. "Really?" I whisper to him. He grins at me. Not his usual goofy grin, or his smirk, but a soft grin that only I really get from him and it's like _seeing_ one of his hugs in the pull of lips over teeth and the sparkle in blue grey eyes I share.

Then he really does hug me, the way he always does, and I'm gripping him tightly back. But my brain finally catches up with my emotions before I have a chance to get too carried away.

"But my apartment doesn't allow dogs," I say. But even as the words come from my mouth, I can guess what Clint's going to say to that.

"Well, that's normally true, but I talked to your manager and I got him to make an exception," he smirks now, "No conditions. You can get any dog you want."

I want to yell at him for potentially threatening my building manager, but instead I'm bouncing up and down and clapping before grabbing my brother and dashing into the shelter.

"Hi," I tell the woman sitting at the front desk, "I'm here to adopt a dog."

Tasha and Phil follow us at a more sedate pace as Clint and I dash around and look at all the different dogs in the shelter as the woman humors us. She must see this a lot. I mean- who doesn't have a soft spot for dogs? And dogs from a shelter? I almost wish I could take them all home.

"Not that one," Tasha says when I'm looking at a little Pitt Bull puppy that's nudging my hand with his nose.

"Why not?" I say, my eyebrows coming together.

"I had a bad experience with Pitt Bulls. Just- not that one," she says. I nod and move on after giving the puppy one last pet.

Phil is watching the rest of us (Tasha's now gotten into the spirit of things and is rubbing the belly of about six Terriers who bounce all over her lap and whimper for her attention) with a paternal grin and the woman showing us around steps up to him.

"They your kids?" she asks, noticing the look on his face.

"Yup," Phil says, grinning at her.

"That's great- so many families aren't this close once the kids grow up."

"Oh, trust me," Phil's grin gets even wider, "They are far from grown up."

The woman laughs lightly, "Well, dogs tend to bring that out in people."

"They're actually usually like this," Phil shrugs, "Well, except for Tasha," he says with a nod to the red head. "But Clint and Arlie…this is pretty typical."

I turn around and let Phil know I heard him by sticking my tongue out at him. It was then I heard some faint whimpering coming a few crates down from me. I follow the noise, which is causing my heart to tear, and find a single puppy asleep, whimpering in his dreams. Normally I'd assume that the puppy was having a dream about chasing a rabbit or something, but something about this sound is so undeniably tragic that I can't help but think it's a nightmare.

"Oh- I'd be careful with that one," the woman says, "He's got a pretty bad past and is terrified of people." But I've already reached out and laid my hand on the dog's head. The puppy's eyes shoot open and he jumps up, cowering at the other side of the crate. In the corner of my eye I see the woman about to take a step forward, but Phil, without looking away from me, grabs her arm and shakes his head.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shelter, one hand held out before me, palm down, and looking at this puppy. He's bigger, with grey fur that becomes wiry and darker on his snout. His ears are adorably floppy but not too large for his size, and his eyes are a soulful brown that I find entirely endearing.

I've just fallen in love with this dog, and he's slowly shuffling towards me.

"It's going to be ok," I whisper to him. "I'm never going to hurt you, darling. It's alright now. You just come to me, sweetheart. Alright." I don't move a muscle when he finally reaches me and cautiously sniffs my hand.

"That's the closest he's willingly come to a stranger since he got here," the woman whispers in an awed tone.

I slowly turn my hand over so the puppy can sniff my palm. "You're a darling boy, aren't you?" I ask the puppy. His eyes come up to mine and his tail moves once, quickly. "That's right, sweet thing, you can trust me."

Clint slowly kneels down next to me. "Hey there," he whispers to the dog, and offers his hand for inspection. The puppy sniffs my brother and his tail wags again. "Tasha, come here," Clint whispers without moving from where he is. I slowly move to pet the puppy.

"No- I'll frighten him," Tasha says.

"Don't be stupid," I tell her, "Come and let him smell you."

"Tasha," Clint looks at the redhead over his shoulder, "_Trust me_. Come down here."

Tasha slowly kneels down next to Clint, very cautiously. She doesn't offer her hand to the puppy, but he looks at her without panicking and gives her a tail wag.

"I think we'll take this one," Phil softly declares to the woman as the puppy lies down in front of the three of us- Phil's children.

"Yes, I rather think so," she replies, and then leaves to go get the paperwork.

The next thing I know I'm holding onto a leash with the puppy on the other end and Clint is still kneeling before the dog as I fill out paperwork with some help from Phil. Tasha stands just behind Phil, still a little amazed that the puppy isn't scared of her.

"We've been calling him Dorian- since he's all grey," the woman shrugs, "You can rename him. But he's part Irish Wolfhound and part English Mastiff. He might have some other things in there, but that's the best we can tell. They sometimes call that mix an Irish Mastiff. He's going to get _big_, and need a lot of exercise. Are you prepared for that? He'll eat a lot too, you know."

"We'll do just fine- Clint and Tasha are kind of fitness buffs," Phil simultaneously lies and tells the truth, "So they'll help Arlie exercise the dog. They spend half their time over at her apartment anyways."

The woman smiles, "That's so nice all your kids are so close. I wish I was half as tight with my sister, but" she shrugs, "Anyways, Dorian is all up to date on his shots, perfectly healthy, and he's been crate and house trained- he's about five months old, we think he was born sometime in late January. You'll need to take him to your vet, though. Here's some supplies to get you started, and once you finish up that paperwork, you're good to go. We recommend you get him chipped, by the way."

"I'll definitely do that," I assure her, "and thanks so much for the help."

"No problem- it's so nice to see him going to a good home. I was beginning to think he was so scared of people no one would want him."

"Eh- our family kind of likes its members with a bit of a past," Clint jumps in, shrugging at her and giving her a charming grin while my new puppy leans against his legs and pants happily. I wonder how much he'll shed.

"Well, let's take this new guy home and get him settled in," Phil says, rounding us up and shepherding us back towards my apartment.

"We're going to train your dog to protect you, you know," Clint tells me.

"Are you going to turn my dog into part of my security system?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"_Hell_, yes."

"He wants to name him Shield," Tasha warns me. I wrinkle my nose.

"Shield?"

"It seemed appropriate," my brother shrugs at me.

"It does have a certain…fit," Phil adds in.

"No," I say, shaking my head decisively, "my dog will not be named after anything related to _Fury_."

"What are you going to name him then?" asks Tasha as I unlock my apartment door and walk in. I look down at my new puppy, who is cautiously sniffing the air while remaining glued next to me. His big eyes look up at me with confusion and some caution.

Clint was right, we do like our family members to have a bit of a history.

The eyes and the grey fur spark something in my head and I decide to push my brother's buttons, "Owl."

Clint immediately groans, "You're naming your dog after a _bird_?"

"You got a problem with that, _Hawk_eye?"

"You are _kidding_ me."

"Nope- I like it. Owl." The dog wags his tail, "Do you like that, boy? You're a good boy, Owl. Don't listen to Clint, he's a bird brain."

Tasha folds herself gracefully onto my couch while Phil rolls his eyes and begins to organize the supplies the shelter had given us. Clint knees down beside my dog and tries to reason with him.

"No- come on, boy- you know you like Shield better. Don't you? Huh? Don't you?"

My dog decides to just lick Clint's hand and then turns back to me with a tail way.

"That," I tell my brother, "Was "I love you, but you're a bird brain," in dog-speak."

My brother scowls at me.

Phil interrupts before we can start bickering properly, "So you're set for a couple days with dog food, and you've got a few toys in here, but you're going to need new supplies sooner rather than later."

"Clint and I can go out and pick some stuff up while you settle Owl in," Tasha offers. "I know Phil has to get back to base, but we have the rest of the afternoon off."

"For recovery," I nod, with a pointed look at my brother who was unconsciously rubbing at his shoulder. I smack him upside the head and he has the decency to look sheepish. "How are your ribs, Tasha?" I turn back to the redhead.

"I'm sure they'll be fine soon. I just need to be careful. Which reminds me," she turns to my brother, "I want to do some training today."

"With cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, and a broken wrist?" asks Phil, his eyebrows raised slightly. I'm not sure why he's surprised, Tasha always wants to train when she's injured. I think it's partially to piss off the medical staff, but it's also because:

"If I get injured during a mission I'll need to know how to fight with a broken wrist. Or a sprained ankle. The only way to learn is to practice now."

Clint does the same thing and it gives both me and Phil heart palpitations when they do this. It's also kind of heart breaking. I'll never forget watching Tasha spar with Clint while she had a broken arm a year or so ago. He hadn't held back on her after a few minutes, since she kept yelling at him to stop coddling her.

"If I'm fighting against an opponent they won't go easy on me, Barton!" she'd shouted, "You need to help me learn to protect myself so that won't matter!"

He had ended up landing a hit on her arm and she had had tears swimming in her eyes for a few minutes after the fight had ended (with her pinning Clint to the ground).

So Phil and I say nothing but look at the redhead and my brother with some extra concern as they both leave to go to the closest pet store to pick up some things for Owl. I sit on the couch and Phil tells me he has to go back to base.

"Ok, I'll see you Sunday, right?" I ask, not getting up but hugging Phil when he bends down to give me a quick hug and kiss on my forehead.

"Yes, you will. Now- work on getting Owl settled in," he pauses and looks at me strangely for a moment, "You're a good girl, you know."

I give him a small smile, "So you tell me."

Phil ruffles my hair, "Because you are. I'll see you Sunday." He offers a hand to sniff to Owl, who gives it a once over, and then lets himself out.

I spend the next half hour coaxing my dog into being more comfortable in my apartment. When Clint and Tasha come back, he barks and hides behind the sofa until he realizes it's them and slowly creeps out.

I raise an eyebrow at my brother, "_This_ is the dog you want to train to guard me?"

He shrugs, "From small beginnings and all. I have great hopes," he gives the dog a pat, "Besides, you're worth guarding. Once he feels stronger, he'll do _anything_ to keep you safe. I'll bet on it."

And then I'm convinced. Because Clint never bets unless he _knows_ he's going to win.


	31. They Found Him

**So Steve is here! But still not awake! I was actually planning on getting to that point in this chapter, but it kind of grew longer than I thought so maybe the next one. I'm now consistently writing the chapters the morning before posting them. It's weird. So I might not have one up tomorrow, because I've got a party for my birthday (yay!). **

**Again, I don't speak Russian- if you do, and notice anything is wrong, PM me & I will fix it.**

**So, read, review, PM me, request interludes, vote in the poll because it will be taken down tomorrow morning & it looks like Steve is going to be the winner here, and enjoy!**

**Also- I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. You are all super inspiring. **

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**June 16th, 2011 (Arlie)**

It's about two in the morning when I'm woken up by my bed shifting with someone else's weight. At first I feel a flash of panic, but then I recognize the sound of dog tags clinking together and realize that Owl wouldn't let someone into the _apartment_, let alone my room without a lot of barking and some serious growling (Clint was right- he's getting significantly braver as he settles in and grows up). I'm debating in my sleepy mind over whether or not I should let Owl cuddle with me on the bed (he has his own dog bed at the foot of mine that he usually sleeps in) but then I've got his wet nose on the back of my neck and his furry body pressing up against my back and he's curling up with me and he's warm and soft and wonderfully doggish, so I snuggle deeper into the covers and go back to sleep.

It's six when I wake up again and this time it's because Owl is barking his alert bark and jumping off the bed to run. I follow my dog out as I hear my door open. Owl is actually at the front door, barking his head off as Clint walks in and calms him down by saying repeatedly that it was just him and everything was fine. My dog lets off his barking and gives a huff as if my brother was incredibly rude for coming in without giving him sufficient notice. Having satisfied himself with a thorough sniff of my brother's hands and shoes, Owl wanders back into my room, supposedly to sleep more.

I look over at Clint who's got a Cheshire grin on his face.

"Shut up," I tell him, before moving into the kitchen to make some coffee.

"He's gotten braver- it was only a year ago that he was hiding behind the couch."

"Fine- he makes a good guard dog. You happy?" I say as I wait for the coffee to finish.

"As long as you realize that I was right."

"I do. And you know what this means?" he looks at me, slightly confused, and shakes his head, "It means _you_ get to train him in all his guard dog duties. I'm not going beyond roll over in the training department."

Clint tries to look offended, "Of course I'm going to teach him. He's protecting my baby sister- I'm leaving no stone unturned. He will be the best trained guard dog in New York!"

"Yeah? Well, you're best trained guard dog is now sleeping on my bed rather than going with you for a run, so I think you should draw your own conclusions there."

My brother frowns and goes to gather Owl and his leash. Clint's been up since about four, doing whatever it is they do at SHIELD when they're not on missions. But at about five thirty every morning my brother goes out for a run (Tasha normally joins him, but she left for a mission yesterday) that covers most of the city and lasts about an hour long. He's decided he's taking Owl with him for his final half hour so Owl can get the necessary exercise for a dog his size. Clint's probably going to have him able to join the dog Olympics.

I watch my brother and my now wide-awake and bouncing dog leave my apartment and decide to try to maybe get some more sleep instead of drinking my _finally_ prepared coffee.

It's a little past six thirty when I'm woken by a wet nose in my ear. When I get up there's dishes in my sink and a note from my brother saying he borrowed some of my left overs for breakfast and that Owl is now beginning to have to slow down for Clint.

I make myself some coffee and breakfast and feed Owl. I'm not sure if Clint fed the dog before feeding himself and leaving, but Owl can stand to have a few extra meals, and he'll never complain.

It's about noon when I'm walking out the door to take Owl on a walk (I love being able to work from home most of the time) that my phone rings. I pick up and Clint's on the other end. He doesn't even greet me or wait for me to say hello before he plows into conversation.

"You will never guess what happened."

I let a few seconds pass as I wait.

"_Well_?" I finally say.

"Guess!"

"You just said I'd never guess so tell me, bird brain!" Owl woofs softly at me, as if he was scolding me for yelling at Clint. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"They found him."

"Who?"

"Captain America."

There is silence on my end of the line, "They found his body? Oh my god."

"And he was frozen in ice, so it's _preserved_. He doesn't look like he's changed since the plane crashed."

"Oh my god," I repeat.

"I know."

"Like- really, though- oh my god."

"_I know_."

"Phil?"

"Practically dancing."

I smirked at this.

"You want me to make dinner for everyone so Phil can celebrate and tell his Greatest Hits of Steve Rogers?"

"Could you? I don't want to sit through that by myself."

I chuckle. "OK- and I'll make Phil some red velvet cake too."

"Oh _come on_- it's not his birthday! They just found his long-dead hero in a perfect frozen condition!"

I hang up. "Come on, Owl, we should go to the market- I've got things to pick up."

That evening, Phil was in rare form, telling us stories about Captain America, also known as Steve Rogers. He even told us some that weren't released to the general public, b ut only show up in SHIELD files. It was, after all, the friends and comrades of Rogers that founded SHIELD.

Even Clint had to admit by the end of the night that Steve Rogers was a pretty cool guy. Though, "it would've sounded even better with chocolate cake." Owl also has decided that Tasha is his favorite pillow and, half-way through the night, curled up in her lap. But he was already so big at a year and a half old, that he was spilling out and Tasha smirked and teased me about losing circulation in her legs. I noticed she didn't try to shove Owl off, though.

At the end of the evening, we all toasted Steve Rogers, and wished him peace in whatever comes after life. SHIELD was going to get him buried properly, probably in Arlington Cemetery.

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**June 19th, 2011**

"So he's alive," Clint says as he walks in to get Owl for a run.

"Last I checked, yeah, Owl is still kicking."

"Not Pigeon," my brother says, "Rogers."

"For Christsake, Clint- just call my dog by his damn name- _wait_. Did you say Rogers?"

"Yup."

"You're talking about some SHIELD Agent that got injured last week or something and I just missed the memo on, right?"

"Nope."

"Because Steve Rogers is dead. And has been for almost seventy years."

"Nope."

"But-"

"_Frozen_."

"You're shitting me."

"Not even a little. They were defrosting the guy," I wrinkle my nose at my brother's choice of words, but he goes on without pause, "And suddenly they realized they've got vitals- he's been frozen. Like someone hit the pause button and now that we're warming him up, they've hit play again."

"How does that even _work_?" I say, scratching Owl, who is wondering what's taking so long for his run, behind the ears.

Clint shrugs, "If you want the science, it's probably better to ask Tasha- she's started studying up on it already. Or Phil, but you're not going to get much coherency out of him these days."

"You'd think he'd get, like," I search for the word I want but am unable to come up with anything beyond, "The human version of freezer burn?"

"There is some damage, and there is no telling about potential brain injury, so they're probably going to be working on him for a while here, they've put him in a medically induced coma for now. Still not sure whether or not he'll make it, but," Clint shrugs and then grabs Owl's lease. He gives me kiss on the cheek as he and my dog head out, "I'm going to be training him as well for a bit, so Crow and I will be back a little later. Breakfast?"

"Call my dog by his goddamn name, bird brain! And fine- I'll make omelets."

He's already out the door.

_Damn_. Captain America is _alive_.

* * *

**June 21st, 2011**

"So it really looks like he's going to pull through?" I ask Phil while we sit on a park bench. Clint's working with Owl, continuing training him to be my guard dog, and Tasha's helping him. It's really entertaining, because Clint's idea has quickly become Clint, Tasha, and Phil's project. I'm the only one not training my dog to guard me. I'm getting him to do things like "paw" and "down," when he gets on the couch.

That last one isn't working so much.

But the three SHIELD agents report massive improvements from Owl when it comes to learning to protect. It was really entertaining, seeing as they all have different methods to teaching him.

Phil started off by asking everyone he knew with a dog for advice. He then talked to some old cop friends, who introduced him to the people who train the Police's dogs, and Phil talked with them. He typed up a file at the end of it all, and started training Owl with a combination of several different techniques he had seen.

Tasha went to the library and read all the books they had on dog training. She then went online and did a quick Google search. She compiled a bunch of notes, read them over a few times, then destroyed them (Tasha never just throws out paper- it's always got to be burned or something first), and began a strict regimen for Owl. She managed to convince everyone to train Owl in Russian, though, since he wouldn't get confused if someone shouted orders in English, with the added bonus that only people who knew him would be able to give him commands. He'd just listen for the Russian.

Clint, I swear, is just making it up as he goes. He tries something, if it doesn't work, he tries something else. If it does work, he keeps going with it.

It's amazing my poor dog hasn't gotten totally confused from all his trainers.

But that afternoon when Clint pointed at me and said "защищать" (protect), Owl sat in front of me and remained alert while watching everyone around us in the park. When he had Tasha walk up to me, she had to let Owl smell her thoroughly and I had to say "сейф" (safe) before my dog let her near me. If I had said "нападение" (attack) or "safe" in English, Owl would've gone for her throat.

It's a little frightening, when I think of it too much, but Clint feels a lot better knowing that Owl's guarding me when my big brother can't. And Phil, I know, feels better, too. He constantly gives Owl extra treats and new toys. Tasha just likes training him, I think, plus Owl _adores_ Tasha. Whenever she sits on my couch he crawls into her lap and won't budge until she nudges him. Clint tried to get him off her once, and Owl just gave him this _look_. I spent the next five minutes laughing at my brother.

"He's learning well," Phil remarks with a nod at Owl, who is still guarding me. "But as for Rogers, yes- it looks like he'll pull through. They're concerned about his brain- no telling what almost seventy years on ice did completely, and it's going to be hard enough on him waking up in the modern day after falling asleep in 1945."

"отдыхать" (relax) I say to my dog, and he lies down in the dirt with a soft huff, as if exhausted from his guard duties. He springs back up when Clint grabs a Frisbee and begins tossing it with Tasha. Owl runs off to play monkey in the middle.

"It's going to be difficult," I say to Phil now, as he watches over the scene in his usual calm manner, "I mean, not only is he going to have to come to grips with everyone he knew being gone, but there's a massive cultural change he's going to have to learn, not to mention technology to catch up with, and realizing we're no longer a country at war. A lot of his conviction, from what you've told us, seems like it came from his firm belief in what was right and wrong. Well, it's not so black and white as it was- Hitler was definitely wrong, but nowadays, villains seem to just be people who are trying to do the same thing as the rest of us."

"What would that be?" Phil asks, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Survive without drowning in your own thoughts."

The somber mood is lifted by Owl's happiest bark as he runs up to me with a Frisbee in his mouth and his tail wagging madly. Hard to believe this was the puppy that had practically run away from us a year ago.

"Did you steal the Frisbee from bird brain, Owl?" I say, scratching behind his ears, "What a good boy! Yes- хорошая собака!" (Good dog!)

"Hey- come back here with that, Sparrow!"

I roll my eyes, "Clint- call my dog by his goddamn name!"

I notice Phil chuckling and I turn to give him a glare. He stops laughing, but the smirk on his face is just as bad.

There's no winning with these people.


	32. Interlude: Taken Care Of

**Look, guys: I made an interlude. It's short and sweet. This one goes quite far back in the past- Tasha's not even here yet, let alone Steve. Wow- major flashback. Anyways, I was going through some stuff and realized we never got Phil's perspective on the Richard Durnin incident. And since we're seeing more and more how much of a father he is to the Bartons, I thought we needed a little Daddy Phil moment here.**

**I've got the chapter for tomorrow set up & I'm actually working on the chapter for Monday as well. I might be pulling back ahead! Yay!**

**So please, read, review, request more interludes, ect. You all know the drill. ;D**

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**August 29th, 2006 (Clint)**

"Clint- I want to talk to you," normally Phil asking to talk to me makes me get that "oh-oh" feeling where your gut clenches and your palms get a bit sweaty and you're mentally reviewing everything you've done in the past five years in an attempt to figure what this is about. However, this time, Phil's tone seems worried and so I'm curious rather than nervous. What's got Phil all concerned?

He lets me into his office and explains that he was making sure he had destroyed all his research and paperwork on finding Arlie when he remembered something- a certain restraining order she had filed against a Richard Durnin.

He looks at me carefully and I'm about to say that it's Arlie's business and we shouldn't butt in when I realize Phil's not trying to butt in- he's trying to protect her.

Well, now Phil could probably ask me for my bow and I'd give it to him.

So I tell him what I'm comfortable with (which, really- there is nothing about that story I find comfortable) and leave out my own personal meeting with _Rich_.

Phil's silent for several heartbeats as he sits behind his desk, completely motionless. His eyebrows are drawn together and his fists are clenched tight. Every muscle in his body seems to be tensed and waiting to be unleased on some poor unsuspecting passerby- except, he's not going to unleash that on some poor unsuspecting passerby, but a lower-than-dirt _thing_ that dared hurt my sister.

I could kiss Phil.

"Where is he?" Phil says in the most frightening tone I've ever heard from the man. It's like a thousand dogs growling, waiting to be let off their leashes. I know what Phil wants- after all, I wanted it too. Maybe I should tell Phil about my talk with Richard- he won't condemn me for it, that's for sure, and he probably won't tell Arlie, either.

"I've taken care of him," I tell Phil. He looks up and I calmly meet his eyes. We sit in silence for a few moments before Phil breaks it.

"Completely?"

"He won't come anywhere near her again."

"I almost wish he would so I could have a turn," he says with a grim smile. No more words are said- we both understand what's been established here. I walk out of the office feeling even better.

I already knew Phil would protect my sister, but now I know he'll avenge her.


	33. Anything But Kansas

**Well, the poll is down. A new one is up (about whether or not you want Barney to make a reappearance sometime) so that's the end of the romantic voting.**

**Steve won.**

**Last night there was some last-minute voting and what used to be Steve just slightly ahead is now Steve with 60% of the votes. Since I'm past the point of...well, not caring- I do care, but past the point of having a decided opinion, we're going with Steve, but for all you Bruclie fans- don't worry, I have plans for them to be tight and if you want you can always write your own!**

**So we've got another chapter from Phil's POV, which is nice, because we get to see Phil be all paternal (I love daddy moments with Phil- he's fabulous as a father-figure and I wish I could just go back in time and give Clint & Arlie to him as little babies, but then there wouldn't be a story. Wait- Phil would still work for SHIELD...OK, there would probably still be a story, but it would have the same feels as this one. Someone! Write an AU where Phil gets to raise Clint!). But Steve STILL is not awake!**

**He wakes up next chapter, though- so be patient. :D**

**Read, review, request interludes, vote in the new poll, and (most importantly) enjoy!**

* * *

**July 4th, 2011 (Phil)**

Clint is still amazed that Captain Rogers is alive, and enjoys using it as an opportunity to tease me mercilessly, so when I arrive at Arlie's apartment for my annual birthday party, I'm not entirely surprised to see it decked out in Captain America party favors.

I still shoot Clint a look.

Tasha's off on a mission so she wasn't here to restrain the Barton siblings, and Owl is sulking since his favorite person is gone (Arlie swears he loves Tasha more than her, and no one argues about it).

Arlie, however, makes up for the ribbing by providing me with all my favorite foods and attempting (key word: attempting) to restrain her brother from eating all of it outright. Owl sits next to the table and calmly waits for table scraps while simultaneously giving the most pathetic eyes he can manage without _actually_ begging.

He eats almost as much as Clint.

"You two found me _another_ card? Seriously- how do you do it?"

* * *

**July 16th, 2011**

"So you've looked up all his old associates and none of them are still alive?" Tasha asks, frowning slightly.

"That's so terrible," Arlie whispers, shaking her head back and forth. She notices everyone's finished their dinner, and so she gets up and grabs the dishes. Waving me back down when I try to help, she leaves for the kitchen and Clint, Tasha and I absorb the idea of maybe one day waking up to find that seventy years has passed while you were sleeping and everyone you ever cared for is gone.

"She's right," Tasha sighs, "And not to mention- a lot has changed in seventy years."

"Going to be a bit of culture shock," Clint nods.

Tasha rolls her eyes, "A bit. Yeah- _sure_, Barton. I remember just feeling completely overwhelmed."

We both look at her for a moment, confused. She rolls her eyes again and spells it out for us, "You two may have forgotten, but I _was_ raised in an institution that hadn't changed or really had much contact with the outside world since the fall of the Soviet Union. I was taught with World War II era textbooks. I may have not slept for seventy years, but I did have quite a lot of culture to catch up on."

"That's right," I sigh, cursing myself for being so stupid- here is one person who can come closest to understanding how Captain Rogers feels about at least one aspect of his new life, "How did you deal with it?"

Tasha shrugged, "For a long time I was on my own so I just made it up as I went along. That didn't go so well and it actually almost made me feel physically ill. Disorientation, confusion, a general sense of just being _wrong_- it's not a nice way to feel. But when I got here you all were able to explain things to me so I caught up."

"But _emotionally_," I ask again, "How did you deal?"

Tasha's getting more uncomfortable. Despite the fact she's practically cuddled on the couch with Clint (if they don't think I've noticed, they're idiots) and Owl, she's still not at ease with admitting she has emotions _to_ deal _with_.

"Arlie helped a lot, actually," she admits, "Because she made sure I didn't feel like the culture I was raised in was wrong or gone- she made sure to blend it with the culture I was learning, so they almost became one cohesive whole. It ceased to be a different culture, and it just became something I didn't know _yet_." Having finished that profound statement, she goes back to petting Owl, who lets out a whimper of contentment now that Tasha's attention is back on him.

Clint sees the look in my eyes and intercepts my thought, "No- we are _not_ using my sister to help assimilate people!"

"At least it's not rehabilitating criminals, Barton," Tasha teases in what is, no doubt, another of their inside jokes they won't explain to the rest of us. Clint just seems to get more upset.

"No, but really- come on. Arlie does not need to be involved with SHIELD and acclimatizing Captain freakin' America to this decade will be _a lot_ of involvement with SHIELD!"

"I _certainly_ don't want to use Arlie, but in the interests of not just helping SHIELD, but a _human being_- a human being, might I add, who has been consistently a hero and deserves the best of this world, but who has had everything taken from him and the rug pulled out from under him- I think she could help him," I realize I'm sounding a bit impassioned here, but I truly think Arlie would help. And, honestly, this _is_ Arlie- she practically lives to help.

"I feel like I missed something," Arlie's voice comes to us from the door, "What are we talking about? Who could help whom?"

Clint glares at me, trying to keep me quiet, and I plan on not mentioning it- after all, it's not going to be possible until Clint comes around, since Arlie would _never_ do anything that her brother was so vehemently against.

But it's not me Clint should worry about, because Tasha rolls her eyes and smacks the archer upside the head. "Stop it- she's an adult and she can think for herself. You don't need to protect her from everything," Clint's look clearly said that he _does_, but Tasha ignores him and turns to Arlie, "Phil thinks that you could help Captain Rogers adjust to this time and maybe help him get comfortable with his grief a bit. Not heal him, but help. Your _brother_," she says the word with a bit of disdain and an eye roll, "doesn't want you that close to SHIELD."

Arlie's eyebrows come together and she looks around at all of us. "You really think I could help him?"

I answer immediately, "Of course. Arlie- you're an incredibly empathic girl and you're wonderful with people who you take an interest in and trust. You help so many without even realizing it. I think knowing you, and having you be someone outside of SHIELD, would help Captain Rogers _immensely_." She seems flattered by the praise, and it hits me in the gut that with the group homes, the orphanages, and the foster homes, that she wasn't complimented nearly enough growing up. Clint's childhood may be worse, but that doesn't make his sister's any less awful. Not enough people took an interest in this girl to tell her she was worth something and truly wonderful. Add on top of that what she must have felt as the years passed without her brothers coming for her, and I'm impressed Arlie was strong enough to make it to the point she was at when Clint came for her.

I need to make sure she understands her own worth more often. Unaware of my inner thoughts, Arlie turns to look at the two Agents on the couch. Tasha nods assuredly and then adds.

"Of course- you helped me." And, really, for Tasha- what more _could_ she say?

Clint seems unwilling to answer, his arms are crossed across his chest and his eyes are full of conflict. He _wants_ to say no. Wants to discourage his sister from doing this. His mouth moves silently for a few seconds before he lets out his breath in a rush and slumps forward, his arms now braced on his knees as he looks carefully at his sister. Because he can't lie to her at all, let alone about how brilliant she is. Because as much as Arlie would _never_ go against something Clint was totally against, he can never truly say no to her when it's something she _really_ wants.

"Arlie- you can help _anyone_." Arlie's simultaneously beaming from the praise and looking massively unsure of herself, but she answers with her usual confidence anyways.

"If you think I can help, then I want to." Clint sighs and his head drops down to study the floor, "Clint, I know you don't want me anywhere near SHIELD, but," her face becomes conflicted, "he's all alone, and no one should feel like that. If I can help, I want to."

The entire room is focused on Clint, even Owl has shifted his head in Tasha's lap so he can examine the marksman. The ball's in his court.

"I want you to go by Kansas," he says finally, "I don't know Captain America, and I'm not going to just trust him with you because he's some war hero. Ok?"

Tasha's hand goes to rest on Clint's thigh, giving her partner some support as he gambles with his sister's safety. For Clint, someone who waited almost five years to even tell me about his sister's existence, this is huge.

Arlie groans, "Seriously- anything but Kansas!"

And with that Clint's back to his usual self, smirking and telling his sister "Kansas, or no deal." They go back to bickering and Tasha's hand returns to petting Owl, who is now practically asleep.

I'm left with the overwhelming sensation that _I raised these kids right_.

* * *

**July 20th, 2011**

"The doctors say he should wake up any day now," I tell Arlie as we walk down SHIELD's halls. She's here under the alias Kansas (and hating every moment of it) but Clint is off on a mission with Tasha so he's not here to complain about Arlie being within SHIELD's walls. He still doesn't trust the agency and while I see where he's coming from, I know after my initial talk with Fury when he first met Arlie, the Director will make sure her safety is maintained no matter how much the Barton siblings may push his buttons.

I'm going to go visit Captain Steve Rogers. The man who was my hero through all of my childhood since my father first told me the story of Captain America saving my grandfather's life in a battle. "He probably doesn't even remember your Granddad," my father had said to me, "he was just one of so many men he had saved that day- let alone how many he saved through the whole war! But your Granddad never forgot and, every year, on the anniversary of the Cap's death, your Granddad would make sure to salute the setting sun, on the off chance the Captain could feel it wherever he's gone."

My father continued the tradition after my Grandfather's death, I know, forever grateful to the man who helped keep my Grandfather alive and, by extension, ensured my father's, and my own, chance at life. Without Captain America, I would not be here. My grandfather was a war hero, and received a Silver Star, but he always said he wouldn't have had the courage to win that medal, or survive the horror of the war, without first seeing Captain America leading the way.

"That," he told me once when he was still alive and I was a small boy, "I thought was an extraordinary man. But he was also everyman. The wonder of Captain America wasn't really that he was the strongest or the best of us all, it was that he made us all believe we could be just as strong and just as great, as him."

Arlie is wandering next to me through the hallways and listening to me tell her all this. I've told both her and Clint the story before, but each time I do they always fall into a sort of hushed wonder and seem to absorb the words I say from the air.

It often causes me to wish I had been able to raise these kids myself for their whole lives, rather than just the last few years.

"So," she says after I finish explaining to her all of the medical procedures they had done on Captain Rogers (she might have stopped listening for that portion), "Are you going to faint?"

"I will not."

"I don't know, Phil- your first time seeing Captain America? In the flesh? I think you're going to faint."

I'm about to say her name in warning, but realize we're in SHIELD during daylight hours, "Kansas," I substitute, but it doesn't have the same effect because Arlie just grins at me and wrinkles her nose a bit.

Who am I kidding? She would've done the same thing even if I did say her proper name.

We enter the medical wing and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm excited. Though I might not mention it to Arlie, whose eyes I can already see sparkling with entertainment and my enthusiasm. Opening the door to Captain Roger's room, I let Arlie enter first before following on her heels to see the man to whom I owed my father and my own existence.

"Wow," I can't help but breathe out. He's lying in bed before us, hooked up to various monitors that are beeping and lighting up on occasion, but he's there. Breathing. Sleeping. And he looks so normal. Arlie giggles at me.

"Faint, fanboy, same thing," she says with a shrug, then goes back to her previous occupation: examining the man before us. Arlie's more somber now we're actually in the room, and she examines Captain Rogers with eyes tinged with a hint of sadness.

But, of course she does- she's probably thinking of the heartache he'll feel when he wakes up and discovers everything he knew is gone and replaced by some strange new world. I'm trying to focus on the new life he'll create once he's able to accept it and move on. Arlie, with her life experience, is more familiar with feelings of pain rather than rebirth, and so she looks at Captain Rogers with something close to tears in her eyes.

So we wait there for Captain America to awaken, and every once in a while a nurse or doctor will come in to check on the man, but Arlie and I stay. I think Arlie's hoping he'll feel that he's not alone with our presence, but after a while I think it's time for us to leave, so I rest my hand on her shoulder to let her know. She nods and then strides forward to the Captain.

She bends down slightly and grabs his hand and whispers softly to him, "I know you're going to be frightened and heartbroken and a thousand other things when you wake up, but I promise- you are not alone. And I can't wait to meet you, Captain Rogers."

When we stand outside the door to Captain Roger's room I can't help myself anymore and I place my hand on the back of Arlie's head to bring her forward enough for me to place a kiss on her forehead.

"You're a good girl," I tell her softly, feeling my heart swell with pride for Arlie Clara Barton. She gives me a little grin and then shoves me softly out of her way so she can leave the medical wing and head home.

"Come on- I left Owl alone enough. He's going to think I've abandoned him if we take much longer."


	34. I Can Do That

**I am sorry guys- this was supposed to be the chapter where Steve & Arlie meet, but Phil thinks a lot. And as for that ending...I'm sorry. So very sorry, but it had to happen sometime.**

**Anyways- in an attempt to make it up to you, I will post the next chapter as soon as I'm finished writing it- even if I manage to finish writing it in 15 minutes- I will post it. Because that chapter STARTS with the meeting you have all been waiting for.**

**So please, read, review, request interludes, PM me about anything and everything, vote in the new poll, ect.**

**Thanks!**

* * *

**July 22nd, 2011 (Phil)**

I'm at first elated when I get the phone call that Captain Rogers is awake. But the words that follow afterward make me severely tempted to set some heads rolling.

"And _who_ exactly thought it was a good idea to play the baseball game without first checking _when_ the game occurred?"

Natasha's right- I sound more and more parental every day. I blame Arlie and Clint. Those Bartons bring out the father in me and he doesn't go back easily.

The Agent on the other side of the phone is stuttering and confused, so I sigh and let him off a bit.

"Where is he now?" I ask, and the Agent only has to say two words for me to know just how deep we're in here.

"Director Fury-"

"Nevermind," I say, rubbing my temples. I can feel the headache building now. I hang up my phone and dial Arlie to let her know I'll probably be late to dinner tonight. When she asks why, I inform her that Captain Rogers has woken up.

"Why don't you sound happier, Phil?" she asks, concern coloring her tone. I smile- trust Arlie to pick up on that.

"Well, there was a bit of a faux pas where he realized very quickly that we were lying to him."

"Ah."

"Yes, _ah_. Anyways, I'll be working a bit later because of it. You guys start without me- just make sure Clint doesn't eat it all."

Arlie chuckles, "I'll make sure- I'll hide some food before he shows up for you."

"Thank you. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye, Phil! Good luck with Captain America!"

I sigh and hang up.

This is going to be difficult.

It's a few hours later when I'm talking to the Director that I realize "difficult" doesn't even cover it.

"I've never actually had to inform a man that all his friends are dead, he's been transported almost seventy years into the future, the war he was fighting in has been over and new wars have been since won and lost, _and_ we want to hire him, all in one sentence!"

I find myself without anything to say as Fury continues to pace.

"Hell, I don't know what to tell the man! I doubt _anyone_ does! No- not doubt- I _know_ no one does! There's never been anything like this before- what's the protocol here?" Fury's actually pacing. Never a good sign. Normally only a Barton can cause him to start pacing.

"Sir- we need to focus on helping him adjust to now, and letting him deal with his grief as he comes to it, rather than focus on recruiting him at all," I tell Fury.

This does not go over well.

"I damn well know _that_, but _how the hell do we do it_?"

"I've check into recruiting Kansas."

Fury looks at me and his face is simultaneously skeptical, intrigued, and annoyed. It's a look only the Director could pull off.

"She was instrumental in adjusting Agent Romanoff to SHIELD and New York, and it's been mentioned among Strike Team Delta that she would be most helpful to Captain Rogers in his circumstances."

The Director says nothing, but maintains his facial expression, so I continue, "Also, I think having someone outside of SHIELD will help Captain Rogers feel more in touch with the outside world without being overwhelmed. Also, he won't feel so…enclosed, in SHIELD itself."

"There's just one problem with your plan, Phil- I've talked to Kansas and she's made it perfectly clear she has _no interest_ in working for us."

"Yes, which is why she wouldn't actually be working for us."

I receive the look again.

"She wouldn't even be a volunteer, really- she would just be someone we happen to introduce Captain Rogers to and if they get along, so be it."

Fury lectures and paces for a few more minutes before agreeing and then dismissing me. I rush over to Arlie's. Hearing a story like Captain Roger's- it's both inspiring and heartbreaking. He's lost everything in what, to him, was seconds, and been thrust into a new world. I have a sudden irrepressible desire to go make sure my little make-shift family is in the here and now.

Arlie opens the door for me when Owl starts to bark while Clint says "тихо, Chickadee," (quiet) without getting up from the couch.

Tasha turns to him with her eyebrows drawn together, "Chickadee? That's one of your weirder ones, Barton."

He shrugs.

"Here," Arlie says, handing me an Ibuprofen and glass of water, "I figure you'd have a Fury-strength headache after today. Food's in the microwave."

Her brother looks over at her with a shocked and wounded expression, "Munchkin," he says in a hurt tone, no doubt for hiding food from him, but she just sticks out her tongue.

My headache should not be receding from a situation like this, but it is anyways.

"So what happened?" Arlie asks as I sit down with my food. The other two look up to listen from where they sit on the couch. Clint's too lazy to move, and Tasha's got Owl in her lap, so I direct my story to the room at large.

"We had set up a 40's style hospital room for him, with a 40's style nurse to help ease him into it." Immediately, Arlie rolls her eyes, "What?"

"Whoever came up with that idea is an idiot. There's no _easing into_ this. What would have been the best would have been to have him in a neutral room, with several people there, but not too many, and an open window."

I continue the story after absorbing that Arlie might be smarter than most of SHIELD's top strategists, "We also had a radio playing a recording of a baseball game," Arlie sighs in exasperation and throws her hands in the air, "which turns out to have been a game he recognized since he was actually _there_." I wait for Arlie's "I told you so," but she just raises an eyebrow in a very Tasha-like move and purses her lips a bit, so I proceed, "After getting past the nurse and breaking out of the room, he then ran out of the facility and into the streets. Director Fury intercepted him and explained that he had been…asleep for almost seventy years."

Arlie's no longer pursing her lips, but instead looks just this side of heartbroken. Clint and Tasha look a little sad, but Arlie- ever the empathic one- seems a few moments away from tears for this man she never met except for one visit to him while he was still in a medically induced coma.

"Did Fury agree to let Arlie help him?" asked Tasha after a few moments. Everyone's attention is drawn back to me as Owl gets up and sniffs at my pockets. That's right- I had stashed a treat in there for him. After giving the dog his snack, I let the group know the news.

"Yes- he's amenable to it. He doesn't seem to think it'll do much," I pause, "Or maybe he thinks it'll do everything. Hard to tell with the Director. Anyways- Kansas, how do you feel about meeting Captain Rogers next Tuesday?"

Arlie thinks for a moment, "I can do that. In the afternoon- I've got a work project due that morning."

I sigh, relieved. Arlie will help Captain Rogers help himself and in the meantime, she'll keep him from feeling too alone. That seems to be what Arlie considers the biggest problem- Rogers feeling alone. I'm not sure if that truly is the worst thing out of this, or if it's just Arlie's personal fear of loneliness speaking there.

"OK- here's the plan, then. As Kansas, you'll go into SHIELD and meet up with Director Fury," Arlie almost hisses, but I ignore the attitude and go ahead in my instructions, "And he will bring you to Captain Rogers."

"Be careful," Clint inserts here, not able to let his sister into what he considers a dangerous situation without some fussing in his own way, "We don't know him, alright? And he's been through a lot, probably got some PTSD, and he's a lot stronger and faster than you because of the serum. So," He turns to me suddenly, "Wait- can Tasha go with her? Just for the first couple minutes? Two of them together- they'll be able to handle anything."

Clint's eyes are begging me and I look over to see Tasha and Arlie shrug in unison. "I think that'll be an excellent idea," I say. "Just remember- only use the name Kansas and don't give too much about yourself away." Arlie's face scrunches up. I know she doesn't like this bit- she thinks to connect to Rogers she's going to need to share a bit of her own story with the Captain. Normally I'd agree, but I'm also pretty sure Arlie could make friends with a brick wall. It might be a bit of a challenge, but she could do it.

What really concerns me is that Clint doesn't trust Captain Rogers. While that normally wouldn't be an issue (in fact, I've long ago gotten used to the fact that Clint will not trust anyone until they personally prove themselves to the archer), Arlie won't trust Rogers until he's really proved himself to her, or he's got Clint's approval. And for as long as Clint's on the fence, Arlie will be a bit reserved. In some ways, she trusts her brother's judgment more than her own. I know that Clint has never told Arlie he trusts Fury (partially because he doesn't) and that was the beginning of the younger Barton's feud with the Director of SHIELD. Clint trusts Fury to get him out if possible, but he also knows Fury will sacrifice him (and Tasha) if it serves a bigger purpose. Arlie doesn't trust Fury as far as she can throw him; she only really trusts me or Tasha to watch Clint's back, and this could work against her when it comes to befriending Captain America.

"I'll be careful Clint, and Tasha won't leave me until she's sure I'm safe, we both know that. Besides, I'll bring Owl with me."

Now that was something I hadn't thought of. Clint seems somewhat reassured with the knowledge that Tasha and Owl will be guarding his baby sister, and so he relaxes back into his chair.

"We'll do this," Tasha says with a nod. I realize that even if Arlie doesn't trust Captain Rogers, Tasha can probably manipulate something into happening. She's done it before- Tony Stark is one of the best people at SHIELD when he works with us. His methods are…strange. But his results and drive is undeniable. Between the two women here, Captain Rogers will never know he's _been_ hit, let alone what hit him.

* * *

**July 26th, 2011**

Today is the day. Today's the day Arlie meets Captain Rogers with both parties conscious and aware. I'm far away on the hellicarrier with Clint and still incredibly nervous- I haven't even met the man yet, with so much going on at SHIELD keeping me busy and I'm slightly intimidated to meet the man I've heard about and hero worshiped my whole life.

I'm terrified of meeting him and Arlie walked into SHIELD's New York base today with a roll of her eyes and snarky comments.

Those Bartons- they're something else.

Right now I know Tasha and the Director are with her (along with Owl trotting faithfully by her side after being told by Clint this morning to "защищать" (protect). That dog is _glued_ to her.) and they're walking down the hall to meet with Captain Rogers, who is probably in an old SHIELD training room from early days.

I'm receiving some information from our scientists when Hill comes up to me and starts examining it as well. She's a brilliant Agent- almost as good as Barton and Romanoff- but she lacks the spontaneity and the disregard for the rules that my Agents have. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"We should really get someone guarding this better," she remarks as the reports are filed away to be examined later by the Director.

"We've got a full team on it," I tell her, wondering what she's thinking of. Hill rarely comes right out with what she wants- she always begins by listing her reasons for wanting it without actually stating what _it_ is.

"Yes, but this- this thing is huge and potentially dangerous. A full team isn't enough."

I get it in a flash of understanding. "You want one of my Agents on it?"

"I'd go for both if I could, but Romanoff isn't much of a guard and we'll need her elsewhere before this is done. I'd like Agent Barton watching over the Tesseract."

"It's up to the Director," I say with a small shrug. Hill gives me a look that Tasha would be proud of.

"All due respect to the Director, but we both know your Agents don't do anything without your say-so, sir."

I have to admit- she's right. Clint would never do anything Fury asked unless I backed up the Director, and Tasha won't do anything Clint won't back up. If Clint's not available for comment, she defers to me. It's probably not the most loyal of systems when it comes to SHIELD, but Barton and Romanoff are with me, that is just something everyone knows. Strike Team Delta doesn't _really_ belong to SHIELD at all. In the end, Clint won't guard the Tesseract unless I ask him to, no matter how much Fury may yell and rant.

"I'll think about it, Agent Hill," I say and she nods and backs away. That's something I do like about Hill- she makes her case and then lets you decide, she doesn't push or pester, she states what she thinks and then leaves you to it. Something I wish the Bartons might learn to do sometime. Tasha doesn't pester, but she pushes in such a way that you don't even know you're being pushed. She's a manipulater, and normally I'd be concerned or feel upset about it, but that's Tasha's way- she was raised thinking that's how things work and she's getting better and better about giving you a chance to make your own choices without her influence. I think the only one she doesn't manipulate is Clint. Maybe Arlie- or it might be she just hasn't needed to manipulate the younger Barton yet.

I consider the pros and cons of Clint guarding the Tesseract- there's certainly no harm in it. Fury and Hill and even I would feel better knowing we've got Hawkeye keeping an eye on things down in New Mexico. That's the problem though- he'd be far from New York. It's not necessarily a problem as far as SHIELD is concerned, but Clint would be reduced to phone calls with his sister. After almost twenty years of no communication at all, they both value being able to actually see one another. However- it's just a basic guard mission and Clint will get time off.

It'll do.


	35. Home

**OK- never say I haven't done anything for you. ;D I've worked my butt off to produce this glorious chapter in record time! So it's probably riddled with mistakes and errors, but I've checked & fixed what I've noticed. **

**Anyways- who wants to see Arlie meet Steve?**

**Read, review, ect. Enjoy!**

* * *

**July 26th, 2011 (Arlie)**

With Owl on one side and Tasha on the other, I feel kind of like I've got my own personal body guards going into SHIELD. No- not like- I _do_ have my own personal body guards going into SHIELD. Fury is waiting for us near the entrance and, after leading us passed several locked/coded doors, down several hallways, and into what is clearly an older part of the SHIELD New York base, he stops in front of a door.

"This is it," he says carefully examining me with his one eye. I stare right back. "Captain Rogers spends a lot of his time here," he informs me, "It's an old gym from when SHIELD was first founded that no one uses any more- not much besides a jogging track and some punching bags. Let's head in." He opens the door and the first thing I realize is: _He feels most at home here_. It's an old gym and it _looks_ like it. This is probably the closest Captain Rogers can get to actually going back in time. Then I see him. He's large- and sweating- and wailing on a punching bag like it did him some personal wrong.

I'm really not sure what I can do to help this man. But this is Phil's hero, and he asked me to try.

"Captain Rogers," Fury says in a booming voice. The super soldier turns around and I get my first good look at his face. It's almost boyish and clean cut in that way that only seems to exist in old 1950's movies. Of course, that is where he belongs. His eyes are a very pale, bright blue and his hair is a purer blonde than Clint's dirty blonde. He's got some jawline, though.

He sees me and Tasha and immediately straightens up, almost as if he was uncomfortable. I notice Tasha's mouth twitch and can tell she's amused by the Super Soldier being intimidated by having to talk to women. I watch Captain Rogers shift a little on his feet as if uncertain what to do, and am actually glad Fury swoops in to save him from his discomfort.

"This is Agent Romanoff," he says with a nod at Tasha. Captain Rogers bows his head slightly and says "ma'am" in a deep, deferential voice. Tasha just raises an eyebrow. "And this is Kansas- she's not with SHIELD, but she's helped us on occasion." I debate in my head the pros and cons of sticking my tongue out at Fury. It would upset Phil, so I decide to let it be. The Captain gives me the same treatment as Tasha and I give him a small smile. I'm not sure what to make of Captain America. What does it do to a man to find out he's been asleep for seventy years- frozen in the ice? Clint doesn't trust him, and I promised my brother to be on my guard. Owl is standing close by me and carefully watching both Fury and Captain Rogers. Good dog.

"We thought," Fury continues now that introductions are over, "That they might help you with any questions or problems you might have. Agent Romanoff has had a similar experience with cultural differences and Kansas is," Fury seems to struggle with what to say here, I turn to him and raise an eyebrow.

"She's good," Tasha interjects. We all turn to her in various states: Fury with some mild disapproval and exasperation, me with some small surprise and a lot of gratitude, and Captain Rogers with confusion but acceptance.

"Well, Kansas- call your mutt off and I'll be on my way," Fury gives a dirty look to Owl, who returns it.

"Owl's not guarding you, Director- you can come and go as you please. I just wouldn't recommend coming too close to me," as if on cue, Owl gives a small, low growl in the back of his throat. Fury rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

"Agent Romanoff?" Captain Rogers asks, as if seeking reassurance that he got her name right.

"That's correct," Tasha says with a nod, going to sit on a nearby bench. I forgo the bench and just crouch down on the ground Indian-style with Owl. He shifts himself so he's lying in front of me, still on alert.

"Director Fury said you'd had a…similar experience, ma'am?" he questions, his eyebrows coming together.

"Tasha had a bit of culture to catch up when she joined SHIELD," I tell him, knowing Tasha doesn't like to answer questions. If I open up the story for her, she'll jump in, but she dislikes it when she has to answer directly.

"I was raised in an institution that hadn't had contact with the outside since the fall of the Soviet Union," she explains after a nod to me in thanks.

"The fall?" Captain Rogers asks.

Oh, dear.

Tasha crosses her arms and legs simultaneously, "Have you been debriefed on the events of the last 70 years?" she asks straight forwardly. I roll my eyes. Smooth, Tasha, really.

"What she means is," I say before Captain Rogers can answer, "What have you been told by SHIELD?"

Captain Rogers turns towards me to answer and seems thrown off by my sitting on the floor. And then he casts a cautious look at Owl. I smirk.

"It's fine, come forward a bit. Сейф, Owl." (safe) Owl relaxes marginally (he's getting to be as protective as Clint), but wags his tail a bit and sniffs the Captain's hand. "This is Owl, he's a bit protective. Kind of like having a big brother around 24/7," I joke, and am immensely proud of myself when I see I've managed to make the Captain give a small smile.

"SHIELD's given me some reading material, but," he shrugs with a self-deprecating grimace.

"It's duller than bricks, huh?" I say with sympathy. The poor guy's been asleep for seventy years and the reading material SHIELD gave him probably would put him to sleep for another seventy more.

He chuckles a little bit and gives me a nod. Tasha looks a tad confused. I look over her at laugh.

"Tasha- not everyone is like you and Phil; most people don't like reading files." She gives me a small scowl for my teasing.

"So you two are friends?" he asks, gesturing at both of us.

I nod quickly, "I've known Tasha since she came to SHIELD."

"Kansas helped me adjust to New York and the cultural differences. She made me feel like home wasn't so far away." Well, isn't that just typical Tasha? She manages to sneak in the most beautiful things in the middle of a whole bunch of ordinary sentences. I give her a small smile, touched she considered me a help with what she had struggled with so much.

"So I think we should work on your history. Catch you up on current events," I say, boucing up to my feet. Owl is startled by the motion and jumps up and begins to sniff me in an effort to see what was wrong. I pat him on the head and say "Let's go to the museum!"

Tasha grins- she actually loves going to the museum, and the only way you can get me there is if Tasha's coming or Clint. They both know all the fun parts of history that you can miss out on. They're better than tour guides.

Captain Roger's waffles a bit but when I grab him by the arm and physically drag him from the room he doesn't put up a fight. Tasha follows behind at a slower pace, smirking.

* * *

**July 26th, 2011 (Steve)**

I did not think when I started my workout today that I'd end up standing in a museum with two women bickering over whether or not Napoleon was any good as a general or not.

How they got on the subject, I don't know- we were in a World War I exhibit and have since moved into the World War II exhibit.

It's strange- seeing the events of my life turned into an exhibit. I look around- there are references to me in some of the plaques and even one whole mural with pictures of me, my men, comics drawn of us, cards made for kids, fans wearing Captain America memorabilia, and a dozen other things relating to me.

I stand before that wall- it's hidden partially by some other things covered in glass and labeled with tags with words like "Donated by Edward Hahn on the occasion of his death." In the corner of my mind I notice that Agent Romanoff and Kansas had stopped bickering a while ago and Kansas is now standing next to me. Owl is still by her side- he almost didn't get into the museum until Agent Romanoff told the attendant that he was a type of dog that sensed seizures for Kansas and the man was so distracted by the beautiful Agent that he barely glanced at Kansas and Owl again.

"You know," Kansas says, almost as if discussing the weather, "I remember when I was younger, I was staying with a family who were less-than-OK," she shrugs, not explaining that statement further, "so I used to love going to school since that meant getting away from them. At one point, for history class I had to do a project on a historical figure from World War II. I picked you and I had never spent so much time on a school project in my life. Mostly because it kept me out of the house but also because I wished that there were more guys like you around nowadays. But that's not what you want to hear," she says, turning to look me in the eye, "This is a museum, and it's taken your life and the things that happened to you and turned them into objects behind glass and things that need to be labeled. But look," she gestures around the room. I do as directed and notice the people in there, the mothers with their children, the teacher with her class on a field trip, the couples holding hands and whispering to each other with stars in their eyes, "The life you knew may have been made less _real_ by having it turned into an exhibit, but the truth of life isn't the events that are happening or the year it is. The truth is- it's in people. Wonderful, ordinary people, who sometimes go to museums so they _never_ forget where we've come from and maybe we can get a little inspired about where we're going."

I look over at this petite girl who just completely turned my view of the world on its head. She gives me a small shrug with a quirky smile.

"You may feel alone, Captain Rogers, but I promise you, you're not. You just haven't found them yet."

"Who?"

"Your family."

With that enigmatic answer, she pats her dog on the head and turns on her heel to go meet up with Agent Romanoff at a display on the Vietnam War.

I'm so surprised by Kansas I don't even realize that I hadn't known there was a war in Vietnam.

About a half hour later we're walking out of the museum and I'm joining in on the debate on Napolean. Having led men myself, I offer some insights that Agent Romanoff and Kansas hadn't thought of. The trip had impressed me with Agent Romanoff's knowledge of history. She seems to know all the interesting facts that museums and textbooks leave out since they have very little actual bearing on history. But they make it all so much more…alive.

Kansas says she wants to take Owl to the park and Agent Romanoff suggests a smaller one that is nearby and we begin to walk there.

I'll admit, it's still a bit overwhelming in New York- it's not the city I'm used to or the one I grew up in anymore, but then Kansas points out a building that she says has been around since the 19th Century and I recognize it.

I barely notice Agent Romanoff's knowing smirk as we enter the park. Kansas begins to run with Owl looping next to her and they suddenly seem like children- a little girl playing with her dog at a park.

"Agent Romanoff?" I say, coming up to where she's place herself on a bench. She inclines her head slightly, so I take that as permission to sit down and continue with my question.

"Kansas-" I drop off, not really sure how to say what I want to know.

"Yes," Agent Romanoff says, "She's usually like this. And no, she doesn't normally fully realize just how much of an impact she has. I'm from Russia, and when I first came here I was uncomfortable and homesick. She found this restaurant one day and brought me to it. It's owned by some Russian immigrants and all the food is Russian dishes and you order in Russian." She kept her eyes on the girl and dog, who have found a stick and are playing fetch now, "I still go there. It's something Kansas can show you about New York- yes, the city is constantly changing and growing, but it's because it's everyone's home all placed together. Your New York is in here somewhere, you've just got to find it. My Russia is in here. Kansas's home is somewhere. New York takes everyone's home and puts them all into one collage to make the city. It just takes a closer look to find where yours is."

"She doesn't work for SHIELD?"

Agent Romanoff seems to find this amusing, "No. She hates SHIELD, actually."

"So why does she work with them?"

"She doesn't. She knows some of the Agents and likes them, so she'll help us out on occasion, but she won't lift a finger for the agency."

"Hey, Captain," the woman in question shouts, "You're a supersoldier and we interrupted your workout- try and tire out my dog, I'm done." She settles herself on the bench on the other side of Agent Romanoff.

"Of course, ma'am," I say, standing. She waves her hand at me and rolls her eyes.

"Go, then, but stop calling me "ma'am," makes me feel old. Just call me Kansas if you have to."

"It's an unusual name," I say with a smirk.

She snorts lightly, "My brother gave it to me. Now go- my dog's about to turn himself inside out, he's so excited."

I turn and see Owl's entire body is practically vibrating with excitement.

This is also something that feels familiar. I never had a dog, but I knew dogs, and between Owl, the park we're in, and the calm chatter of Kansas and Agent Romanoff in the background, it seems almost as if, for a moment, I was home.


	36. Interlude: Where She's Going

**We needed to celebrate because- as of today- it has officially been two weeks straight for Reliant getting over a hundred visitors every day. So, um...wow. Never really expected that level of people to read this (makes me almost more nervous about publishing and at the same time makes me feel really flattered). **

**But here we have the first meeting of Arlie & Steve from Steve's POV! Oh, yes!**

* * *

**July 26th, 2011 (Steve)**

_Bucky Dugan Gabe Morita Dernier Falsworth Dr. Erksine Peggy_

I'm about to deliver one hell of a punch to the bag at the memory of Peggy- who I saw less than a week ago but sixty six years happened in between- when a voice saying my name causes me to turn around.

It's Director Fury and with him are two women I've never seen before. I straighten up, a little embarrassed to be seen in the middle of a work out, and try and relax a little. They're both dressed in slacks, but one is in full Agent regalia and the other is casual wear- what I'm assuming the style is for women today. God, I don't know. I didn't even know what style for women was in my day. They're both clearly beautiful women- one with curly red hair and an almost sharp quality to her, the other is slight, small, with short brown hair and amusement written all over her face and in her blue-grey eyes.

"This is Agent Romanoff," the Director says while giving a slight nod at the red-head. I greet her while Fury continues to talk. "And this is Kansas- she's not with SHIELD, but she's helped us on occasion." The girl called "Kansas" looks sharply at the Director and seems to give a small sigh after a moment. She gives me a small, but warm, smile when I greet her.

Director Fury begins to explain why he brought these women to meet me, "We thought that they might help you with any questions or problems you might have. Agent Romanoff has had a similar experience with cultural differences," this catches my attention- has someone else actually _had_ a similar experience? Is that possible now? Fury continues, "and Kansas is," he cuts himself off, looking at a loss for words. I'm not quite sure who this girl Kansas is, but she's clearly got some backbone, since she turns to the Director and raises an eyebrow until Agent Romanoff cuts in.

"She's good," I'm not quite sure what that means, but at this point I'll go for anything.

It's not like I'm doing much else.

"Well, Kansas- call your mutt off and I'll be on my way," Fury says, looking down at the dog by Kansas's feet.

Kansas smirks, "Owl's not guarding you, Director- you can come and go as you please. I just wouldn't recommend coming too close to me," the dog gives a low growl at this.

Well, dogs are pretty much the same no matter what year- that's a relief.

The Director leaves the room, leaving me with two women I've just met and I have no idea how to talk to. Bucky would find this much easier- he'd probably already have dates with both of them by now, but I just shuffle my feet a little and decide to find out how Agent Romanoff has had a similar experience to mine.

"Agent Romanoff?" I ask, hoping I remembered her name right.

"That's correct," she says as she sits down. She's a very controlled woman- it seems like every movement is calculated. It reminds me a bit of how Peggy would move when she was working or when she was feeling confidant (which was most of the time).

I decide to just come out and ask, hoping I don't somehow offend her, "Director Fury said you'd had a…similar experience, ma'am?"

"Tasha had a bit of culture to catch up when she joined SHIELD," Kansas says, answering for the redhead with assurance.

The Agent gives a small nod at the brunette and explains further, "I was raised in an institution that hadn't had contact with the outside since the fall of the Soviet Union." I recalled the Soviet Union- it hadn't really seemed to have much contact with the outside world in my time. Wait-

The Soviet Union has fallen? "The fall?" I find myself asking.

The two women go silent for a few moments. I'm worried I've somehow made some sort of rude comment or crossed some line that has come into being since I've been in the ice. What did I do?

The Agent crosses her legs and arms and speaks to me with calm confidence and assurance. "Have you been debriefed on the events of the last 70 years?" I feel a bit awkward- SHIELD had given me several files on history that's happened since my crash, but I found them difficult to get through. Now I wish I had persevered.

Kansas swoops in to save me from my own thoughts though, "What she means is what have you been told by SHIELD?"

I turn towards her and suddenly realize she's sitting on the floor, legs crossed like children do when playing duck duck goose, and her dog-

I hadn't fully realized how big her dog was- and he's staring at me as if I committed some sort of crime.

The woman almost chuckles and beckons me forward to her, "It's fine, come forward a bit. Сейф (safe), Owl. This is Owl, he's a bit protective. Kind of like having a big brother around 24/7," The thought of the massive dog scaring away people who try to come towards this woman makes me smile. The dog-Owl- relaxes enough to smell me and wag his tail a bit. This suddenly feels familiar- meeting a dog. It's the same. I've done this a thousand times in my life and it's always the same. Sure- the circumstances are different, but dogs will always smell your hand and wag their tail or try and bite or something just _doggish_.

"SHIELD's given me some reading material, but," I shrug- not sure how to explain that I couldn't get through it.

"It's duller than bricks, huh?" She says with a sympathetic smile. Her wording and tone make me chuckle- she's got it exactly right. The brunette looks over my shoulder at the Agent and gives a laugh.

I realize that's probably the first time since I've woken up that I've heard someone laugh. I've kept myself mostly apart from the Agents of SHIELD, feeling confused and out of place here, and those who do talk to me are usually Doctors or the Director, giving me information or asking about my current condition. Nothing to be laughing over.

She's got a nice laugh.

"Tasha- not everyone is like you and Phil," she says, grinning at the redheaded Agent, "Most people don't like reading files." The redhead scowls at her, but the brunette seems unconcerned with the expression. It's a strange relationship they have.

"So you two are friends?" I gesture at the two of them, trying to understand. Is this how friendships work now? Or is it just them? And how do I tell?

"I've known Tasha since she came to SHIELD," Kansas nods and says happily. The Agent's face goes somewhat softer as she adds:

"Kansas helped me adjust to New York and the cultural differences. She made me feel like home wasn't so far away." Kansas gives Agent Romanoff a soft smile, clearly touched. I see why now that Fury sent Kansas into meet me- He's probably thinking that if she can help Agent Romanoff, maybe she can help me too.

I'm not sure whether or not I hope he's right. I think I'm still waiting for me to wake up and find this has all been a dream. Or I might just spend the next seventy years swinging at punching bags until I finally go to sleep without waking up.

"So I think we should work on your history," the brunette bounces up, causing her dog to worry about her, but the woman grins at me and it's so _infectious_ that even I begin to feel it, "Catch you up on current events. Let's go to the museum!"

I notice, out of the corner of my eye, the Agent grinning slightly. I'm not sure about this- the last time I had dashed outside of SHIELD had been…overwhelming doesn't even cover it. But Kansas grabs my arm (another first, I think: I'm pretty sure no one has touched me without a medical purpose since I've woken up) and starts dragging me out the door, so I follow.

She probably knows where she's going.


	37. Just Life

**Wow, guys- I'm super sorry this is coming so late, but I got a bit of writers block today, then I got busy, and then- THEN- I finally saw Captain America: The Winter Solider.**

**I cried at that final scene with Bucky. Just...tears. If you haven't guessed already, sibling things are something that get to me really easily. I'm more likely to cry at a scene with two siblings saying goodbye than a romantic scene with lovers dying or whatever. I'm a nerd- today my brother told me I was a strange girl because I'm more attracted to the Avengers than Magic Mike. No shame! (Also- I should add that my brother was kind of proud of me for that once he got over being grossed out that I could admit to finding any guy attractive- apparently, that wasn't something he'd like to hear from his big sister.)**

**But, yes, GREAT movie. Can't wait for another, and I'm trying to file away some ideas for writing a story with Arlie following those events but it's a tad difficult because 1- there's not much for Arlie in that story since it's really just Natasha & Steve kicking ass (and can I take a moment to say how much I ADORE Scarlett Johanson as the Black Widow? She is quickly becoming my favorite person). And 2- I still haven't even written the events of Avengers yet!**

**Ah! So much to do!**

**But, thanks for the patience, thanks for all the reviews, the favorites, the follows, ect. Please do some more, PM me with ideas you might have, interludes you'd like to see, questions you want answered (I once had someone ask me what Arlie's favorite type of cake is and I'm not going to lie- best question I've gotten about this story because it does nothing for the plot, they just wanted to know more about Arlie).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**July 30th, 2011 (Natasha)**

"So she really is helping him?" Clint asks me again. I think he wants me to tell him "no," so he has an excuse to get Arlie out of SHIELD. It's worrying him so much I almost _want_ to tell him "no." But he also wants honesty, so I go with that.

"She is. More than either of them realize."

I can hear Clint smiling at me now, it's in his voice when he tells me, "Well, you notice everything, more than everyone else, so it's probably more than anyone but you realizes."

"I was trained for observation," I tell him, even after all these years I'm uncomfortable with praise like that. I can handle a certain amount from Clint, but unless it's about a mission, I don't like it from anyone else.

Clint can tell I've reached my quota for flattery in this conversation and moves on, "Sounds like you've got more interesting things to observe than me. I'm stuck watching a bunch of scientists get into a tizzy over this thing."

"You just don't trust the good Captain with your sister."

"Damn right," he sighs, "This is the worst idea Phil ever had."

"What? Having Arlie help Captain Rogers or having you babysit a glowing blue box?"

"Good point- it's a draw."

"Are you not getting enough chocolate, Barton?"

"Oh, shut up, Romanoff," he says, but I can hear him holding back his chuckles. "Now, be serious- how is Arlie?"

"She's fine, keeping herself busy. She had a long discussion with Captain Rogers about food yesterday. I think she misses you."

"And Phil?"

"He's been extremely busy on the Hellicarrier. He hasn't even met Captain Rogers yet. Though I think he might also be a little afraid to. It's difficult having to meet your heroes."

"And you?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Barton."

"I hear you say that, but you sound more tired than usual."

"I'm _fine_, Barton."

"_Nat_," he says with a warning in his voice.

"Alright, I'm a bit injured from that last mission in London."

"How much a bit?"

"I might have broken a few ribs."

"God, Nat- why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Well, Arlie I made promise in exchange for promising her that I'd follow the Doctor's instructions completely and not cut corners. Phil- I threatened to burn his Captain America cards if he told you."

Clint chuckles, "Damn, Nat- grab the man by the throat. But, really- how bad?"

"I told you, just a few broken ribs."

"You know I can tell when you're lying, right?"

"I also might have a concussion."

"_Nat_."

"I definitely have a concussion and I've also broken a few small bones in my hand and _that's it!_"

I hear him sigh in a gust of static-y breath over the phone, "I'm sorry, Nat- I wish I was there to help."

"It's fine. The only problem is it's hard to sleep with my ribs. I'll be healed by time you get back."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"You can't take care of everyone all the time, Hawkeye."

"I can try."

"Do you want me to tell you what Arlie and Captain America are up to or not?"

"Deflection," he sing-songs towards me, knowing it's gotten too emotional for me, "But go ahead."

"Well, she's successfully brought him up to date on his history, and she's getting him more comfortable with the city. They're spending a lot of time running Owl around,"

Clint cuts me off, "Wait- she's having him run Sparrow? But that's my job."

"So Owl is supposed to stop running when you're off on a mission?"

"Alright alright- I see your point."

"He needs to keep up with the exercise- Owl's got too much energy. That dog could outdistance some of the Agents here."

"Of course Hummingbird can outdistance them- I've trained him and the Agents are lazy."

"Good point. But Captain Rogers has gotten very attached to Owl, I think," she didn't mention how she thought Captain was getting attached to Arlie as well- that would only bring trouble. "My theory is that it's because the dog is something of a constant in both this time period and his- dogs act the same in 2011 as they did in the 1940's."

"Probably true."

"And Arlie is keeping him invested in current times by telling him the gossip around the SHIELD base."

"Wait- how did my sister find out the gossip around SHIELD?"

"I told her."

"Oh, good."

"Otherwise she's really just talking to him. I'm not sure what they talk about since I don't really meet with them anymore."

"Wait- you've stopped going with Arlie?"

"Calm down, Barton, you'll give yourself a heart attack. Yes, I've stopped going because I have things to do, Arlie's an adult fully capable of _killing_ someone who might attack her, _and_ she's got Owl guarding her. You trained that dog yourself- you know he won't let anyone hurt her. Let alone what _she'll_ do to someone who lays a hand on her."

Clint's silent for a long time, but I can hear his breaths on the other side of the line and I settle deeper into the bed I'm lying on as I wait for him to let his head finish arguing with his heart over his irrational need for Arlie to be enclosed in bubble wrap.

"You've made some good points. I'm sorry Nat, it's just- you know." I do know. Clint still feels guilty for not being there when his sister needed him while she was in the foster system. I've seen her scars- we went to the beach one weekend and bikinis weren't much of an option for either of us. While Arlie hasn't got as many scars as me, she clearly has been through some things no one should. I'm also fairly certain there was some abuse in a romantic relationship, judging by Arlie's unwillingness to enter into one and some things Clint and Phil have said. No one talks about it, but it's understood. We don't dig into each other's pasts in our little family- if you want to tell someone, you do, and no judgment will come, but nothing has to be said.

It's one of the nicest things I've ever found.

"I know, Clint. But even if you don't trust the Captain, trust _her_. She's more than capable."

"You're right. Ok- I'll talk to you later, you need sleep to heal up. Nat- be careful."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Clint."

* * *

**July 31st, 2011 (Steve)**

"So he was your best friend?" Kansas asks, looking at the old photograph of Bucky I've just handed to her. It's amazing what the photos look like nowadays- so clear and even more lifelike than in my day, with all that color- but this is my photo of Bucky and me, back before I had the serum, and as such, I think it looks better than any picture you could take today.

I nod, "He was always there- we grew up together. He'd be the one to piece me back together after I got into a fight," I grin a bit.

"You get into a lot of fights?" Kansas asks, smirking at me as if she already knew the answer.

"I might've. I can do it all day," I shrug, "Of course, now I don't need so many bandages afterwards."

Kansas looks back towards the photo and her smile grows soft, "You're brothers," she declares, as if she was reading the past, present, and future in that one photo, "Completely different and exactly the same."

"Well, best friends, but he was always like a brother."

She shakes her head at me as if I've missed something obvious, "No, you were brothers. Siblings aren't about blood, not really. Sometimes you're lucky and you get them from the get go, mostly because of blood, but that's not where it really comes from."

"Where does it come from then?"

"One day, one of you looks at the other and decides."

"And that's how you get a sibling, huh?"

"It's how I got mine," Kansas says with one of the most intensely loving smiles I've ever seen on anyone's face, it's amazing she can fit that much emotion into one twist of the lips. I realize that this is a piece of information I hadn't had before. She has a sibling. Not necessarily one of blood- but someone she considers to be her brother or sister. I wonder if it's Agent Romanoff. They seemed close, but not necessarily sister-close. I file it away to think about later. "Now, tell me a story about growing up with Bucky," She bounces a little in her seat, giving me a big grin of excitement, "He looks like a fun guy."

And so I tell her about the time Bucky dragged me to Coney Island and the entire time she holds the photo and glances at it once in a while as if to fix Bucky's face and his personality permanently in her mind using my words. It's so easy telling her about him, and it means so much that she seems delighted with every story of growing up in Brooklyn as Steve Rogers- the skinny kid who couldn't just walk away from a fight no matter how beat up he got- with James Buchannan Barnes- his best friend who pulled him out of every scrape, and got him into more than a few. So I tell her more stories, and sooner than I realize she knows pretty much every childhood story I have worth telling.

How did that happen?

But she laughs at something Bucky said about seventy five years ago and my mind is searching for another story to tell her to make her laugh again. Bucky would've loved Kansas- she's a bit crazy and got more than a little spunk.

Of course, Buck would've pointed out that it didn't hurt she was drop dead gorgeous.

When Kansas asks me why I'm blushing I refuse to say anything on the subject and I divert her with pointing out she now knows every embarrassing story I have to tell about my life.

"Oh, they aren't embarrassing. Or, you shouldn't feel embarrassed about them."

"Why not?"

She gives me a smirk and a shrug, "They're just life. You wouldn't be who you are today if you didn't have all that happen to you. If you hadn't been skinny, weak on the outside-strong on the inside Steve Rogers, who tried to enlist five times until he finally convinced someone to let him try- you wouldn't be Captain America."

She's so very right and the words are so similar to what Dr. Erskine had said that I need to distance myself a little. "You're telling me throwing up on the Cyclone at Coney Island has made me who I am today?"

She giggles, "Absolutely."


	38. Interlude: Phil's Gifts Part 1

**Guys, I hate to do this to you after updating daily since I first started this story, but with my work schedule increasing now that I'm on summer break, it might begin to take me longer to post. I will continue to update, I promise- it just might be every two days rather than one. I won't leave this story unfinished, either. Promise.**

**Anyways, this interlude is for silent song of shadows, who wanted an interlude about the Bartons finding the Captain America cards for Phil. I decided to run with it and I'm writing how they found pretty much every Captain America themed gift they've ever given him. Hence, why this is only part one.**

**Anyways, read, review, request more interludes, enjoy!**

* * *

**The Sixth Card- Christmas 2002 (Clint)**

It was sometime in the third month of working at SHIELD that I noticed that Phil has two Captain America cards that he's insanely proud of. One is a picture of the Captain in a classic Uncle Sam "want YOU to join the US Army" pose with the words "Buy War Bonds- Have You Done Enough?" written along the top and bottom. The other is some weird cartoon drawing of the man running towards you, shouting, with something I assume is mustard gas (I really didn't look that closely except to notice it was number 15) coming up around him.

But when it comes to Christmas, the third one I've had since joining SHIELD, and, more importantly, the third one spent with Phil- I need something really good for his present. I didn't even get Phil a gift that first Christmas, and the second one I got some half-assed book about the CIA that was not personalized at all. I mean, really. Phil's been more than great to me- he listened to me talk about Barney and hasn't judged me once for all the things I've done. When I get quiet (around holidays for family, Arlie's birthday), he doesn't really push, just lets me know he's there.

Yeah- Phil deserves a kick ass present this year and every year for the rest of his life.

So I scour the internet. I'm not the best with technology, I'll admit it- haven't had much time to practice with computers. But seriously- some Captain America vintage cards should not be this damn hard to find.

Phil sends me on a mission in Egypt and it's sweltering hot and sand gets _everywhere_ and I'm dodging some bullets when I duck into a tiny little shop to hide behind some old junk they're selling. I turn around to place my back to the wall and pull out a gun (I've already used my bow for the assassination, don't want to leave more arrows lying around- it's the fourteenth one I've lost since joining SHIELD and I like my arrows. Plus- harder to track me when I swap weapons.) and then I see it.

A huge pile of vases. Perfect cover rather than the wall that has so many holes in it I think it must be an architectural thing- you can't get it like this by accident. Can you? Regardless, I duck behind them and I find the surprised shopkeeper. He's holding up his hands in surrender and I just stare, because in his right hand is a card. A freakin' Captain America number 6 trading card where the Cap is wearing some ratty clothes over his stars and stripes uniform, deflecting bullets with his shield and I've been searching for something like that for _weeks_ and here it is in some shopkeeper's dirty hand in _Cairo_.

What the _hell_ is something like that doing in Cairo?

I take a look at the shopkeeper, he's terrified and quickly, in some pretty damn good Egyptian Arabic (if I do say so myself- I taught myself the language while putzing around her for the past two weeks waiting for my target to give me an opening) I offer to get out of his shop completely in exchange for the card.

I've never been handed something so quickly in my life.

Phil's going to _love_ this.

* * *

**The Tenth Card- Christmas 2003**

I actually found one on the internet this year and it cost me a pretty penny. But, I broke out money from the account I had as a free-lance assassin (something I refuse to touch unless it's to do something for someone else) and looking at the balance on that account, it suddenly didn't seem to cost so much on EBay.

Some asshole almost outbid me though. I wish I could send threats through the computer, but Phil told me I wasn't allowed to do that last week when I was trying to get some old stuff on EBay that I had seen on there that used to belong to Carson's. I couldn't just leave our old stuff lying around like that with vultures descending, so I tried to nab it before anyone else did.

Phil is a lot nicer than me with people online.

But I got the card, and I know Phil's going to be amazed by me since I've managed to snag _two _Cards for him now- doubling what he had when he met me.

_Yeah, I'm that good,_ I think as I lean back in my chair having finally placed the highest bid.

I also might be visualizing the asshole fuming before his computer after having lost the card to me.

Nobody's perfect.

* * *

**The Mug- Christmas 2004**

My best efforts have not yielded me a Cap card this year. And I've been looking- even in little hole-in-the-wall places while on missions. It was while I was searching one such place in Slovakia that I found a Captain America Mug.

Jesus, they make everything in this guy's style.

I shrug and grab it- there's only a few days left till Christmas and it looks like I won't be getting Phil a card this year. He'll have to settle for a mug made in his hero's honor.

Phil still grins like an idiot and tells me he loves it when he opens it up on Christmas, so I guess anything Cap is fine by the man.

Good to know.

* * *

**The Helmet- Christmas 2005**

"So you definitely want something Captain America- it doesn't have to be a card?" Arlie asks after a few minutes of sitting at her computer. I'm glad to have someone else to look through the online stuff this year- my eyes might fall out if I stare at a screen one minute longer, but Arlie seems immune to my problems.

"Yeah- anything vintage is good, really," I say as I pull out her salsa. She's got a bag of chips around here somewhere….

"Found something!" my sister says with a squeal. I abandon the search for the chips (I'll ask her later) and go over to see what she's snagged.

"I don't see a picture- this isn't EBay," I say, scowling at her computer screen. Arlie clicks a few buttons and up pops a picture of a helmet. Or, rather, the helmet. It's a kid's toy version of the Captain America helmet for whoever might like to pretend to be the Cap for a few minutes during recess or summer break.

"Awesome. But how are we getting it?" I ask, turning to my sister.

"Well, I was tracking down memorabilia, not just the stuff that's for sale, and I found this is in the hands of one Kostandin Baris, who lives in Des Moines and he is…a less than sterling citizen."

She shows me a few more things on the computer screen, proving Mr. Baris has some dealings with drugs.

"But he's not selling the helmet so what…oh." I look at my sister.

She shrugs, "I thought the whole point of SHIELD was to help protect people. Drugs are very dangerous, you know." Her eyes are big and she's playing at being innocent. I sweep her out of her chair to give her a hug.

"You're brilliant," I tell her, "And I think this calls for a road trip to Des Moines!"

"I quite agree," she says, smiling, "And look- I work from home most of the time so I don't even need to request time off."

"You get the snacks, I'll go pack."

"No, I'll get the snacks, _and_ pack. I don't know who taught you how to pack up a suitcase, but they did a terrible job. You get this stuff from the printer and get us a car with a full tank of gas."

When we meet with Mr. Baris he's more than a little on the pathetic side, but I make Arlie wait in the car anyways. I come out within fifteen minutes with the Cap Helmet and she's already dialing the police to leave an anonymous tip to check out Mr. Baris for heroin.

"I just promised the man I wouldn't say anything if he gave me the helmet," I teasingly scold her as I put the car into gear.

"You did, _I_ didn't."

"Good point. Phil's going to love this."

"We so win best gift givers in the universe for this."

"Nah," I tell her, "I own that title alone- I got him _two _Cap cards."

"Challenge accepted, then," she says as she examines the helmet.

"I still don't really see the big deal about Captain America," she tells me. I just shrug.

* * *

**The Second Card- Christmas 2006**

"I found one!" Arlie practically squeals as soon as I answer the phone with "Barton."

"Found what?"

"Clint- it's almost Christmas, what do you think I'll be looking for?"

"You found a Cap card?" I practically whisper. Phil's nowhere around, but I still feel the need to keep this secret.

"Number 2- please tell me he doesn't have that one."

"No, he doesn't," I say. "Where is it?"

"It's currently owned by a Mrs. Robert Wilson who lives in New York and she's not selling, but I don't think she realizes what it's worth, since she seems to be having a bit of trouble making ends meet. I think we should do a Good Samaritan thing."

"You want me to open up my account?"

"It's a good cause, Clint! Getting Phil a Cap card _and_ helping Mrs. Wilson. She's all alone- doesn't have any children or grandchildren, she's a widow. She's struggling to make ends meet. I'm not saying we should force her to sell the card- tell her we want it, but we'll help her out either way."

"And how are we going to explain the money we somehow have? We're not a charity registered with the government, munchkin."

"No- but we might have some old family money that we're trying to get rid of."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because clearly we don't need all of it, bird brain. Just help me here!"

"Ok, fine- but you do all the talking with her, this is yours. Fury just told me I'm working this week."

"Ok, I'll talk to Mrs. Wilson. And you be careful, ok?"

"I promise, munchkin."

"Shut up, bird brain."

"Go get that card!"

"Fine! Bye!"

About a week later, I'm setting it up so Mrs. Wilson gets steady deposits into her account every month to help her make ends meet. She shouldn't have to worry about money for the rest of her life. Phil's look when we tell him the story behind his new card and the hug Arlie give me for it are perhaps the best Christmas gifts I've ever gotten.


	39. A Little Spunk

**Alrighty, guys- so we've got a lot of Steve/Arlie in the beginning of this chapter. And I mean a _lot_. I'm almost embarrassed how sappy it got towards the end there. But then we're starting Avengers. Ta da! And next chapter will probably be from Phil's POV.**

**I might start crying, just knowing what's coming.**

**But please, read, review, request interludes, PM me about anything, ect. And enjoy!**

**Thanks to those who have favorited, followed, and reviewed- you're all fabulous! I'd like to give you all Captain America cards, but Phil refuses to share. Plus, there's more of you than Phil has cards so we wouldn't be able to divvy them up evenly.**

**Oh, well.**

* * *

**August 21st, 2011 (Steve)**

"So I'll see you Sunday?" I ask Kansas as Owl and I both run up to her after a jog around the park. Owl can't keep up with me much, but he's getting better and better. That doesn't stop him from just throwing himself into Kansas's lap and panting at her.

"Ewwww. Hot breath," she says, wrinkling her nose and shoving her dog's face to the side. She closes the book she had been reading, leaving her finger tucked into the page she was last reading. It's some biography about a man named…Steve Jobs? She said he had worked with technology and tried to explain to me earlier, but had quickly lost me. Kansas apologized- said that she was the wrong person to ask about tech since she had a tendency to use a lot of jargon and get ahead of herself. "I can't do Sunday," she tells me looking both apologetic and excited, "My brother's coming into town and we're having a bit of a reunion. The whole family."

"You have a brother?" I ask while sitting next to her and Owl, careful to keep enough away so she won't be offended by the heat radiating off me and the smell of sweat.

She nods, "My big brother," her grin could light up several city blocks for weeks.

"So the whole family? How big _is_ your family?" I ask, suddenly realizing just how little I know about Kansas. It's a little disconcerting, considering she knows everything about me. I wonder if this is because I just haven't been asking, or because she's been working with SHIELD too long and has been deflecting without my noticing. Perhaps both. I would get concerned but the grin she gives me for the question quickly eases my mind and slows down my heart rate.

"Small by most standards. Just the four of us, really."

"Dad, mom, you and your brother?"

"No- Dad, me, brother, and brother's girlfriend slash family friend who we've known for ages."

"Your brother's girlfriend?"

She shrugs and grins, "Well, I call her his girlfriend where neither of them can hear me. They haven't really done much about it. They both are stupidly in love but refuse to do anything. I swear, I'd lock them in a closet together if I thought it would do any good."

"What's your dad like?"

She gives a soft smile that seems both shy and amazed, "He's great. You'd like him. He just," she sighs, "He brings out the best in all of us. And he's just so filled with conviction. He really, _really_ likes conviction. But he will go to the ends of the earth for any of us and it's," her eyebrows come together slightly and for a moment she seems a little heartbroken, "More than I have ever expected, more than anyone really could ever deserve, and more than I ever could have dreamed of. I owe him a lot."

"I'll bet he'd probably say you don't owe him a thing," Kansas looks at me, clearly unsure. "Dads do that," I tell her with a small shrug, remembering my own. I'm about to ask about her mother, but form the way she doesn't talk about her, I don't think she wants to, so I go back to the topic that seems to make her happiest.

"So your brother's coming into town? He doesn't live in New York?"

"He does sometimes. He travels a lot with his job and he'll spend months in places and then pack up and spend three months somewhere else. Drives me crazy- I just wish he could stay with me, or I could go with him but it's really just not feasible and he checks in all the time so we know he's OK. Plus, you know, his girlfriend makes sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Kansas giggles.

"Yeah- brothers do stupid things sometimes."

"Not sometimes- _always_."

"OK, I'll give you that one."

"But really, he's the best brother in the world. He's simultaneously the best and worst person I know. He's the worst because he's such a hypocrite. He won't let me do anything he considers dangerous, wouldn't let me out of the bubble he'd like to wrap around me if he could help it, but he'll dash headlong into things all the time if he thinks it's a good cause. He won't let me do the same. He treats me like glass and like a child. He's stubborn and rash and hates being told he's wrong. But, he loves more intensely than I've ever seen anyone love in my entire life. Once he trusts someone, he trusts them absolutely. He is willing to save anyone, and sacrifice for something he believes in. He hugs me like I'm the most precious thing in the world and that girlfriend of his? The way they move around each other- they're always in perfect balance, and it's him that does the balancing most of the time. He will do anything to protect the innocent, the everyday people, and those he loves. He's just," Kansas seems at a loss for words, waving her hands about her in a futile attempt to sum up this emotion that seems to be pouring out of her, that seems to simultaneously drown her and lift her far far above everything.

"He's your hero," I tell her, softly whispering it as we sit side-by-side in the grass at the park in the middle of the day, with a book about Steve Jobs between us and a massive dog panting in her lap as I slowly cool down from a run.

Somehow it seems like the perfect setting for this conversation anyways.

"But he's also human," she says with a nod. "So, I guess, the only way to say all of that is: he's my big brother."

"You'd do anything for him," I sigh, thinking about Bucky and wondering if this brother of hers is anything like the brother I had. She says nothing, but gives me a look that is more of an affirmation than any words could be.

Owl breaks the moment by barking at another dog passing by, and soon Kansas is joking about her dog needing a date sometime and how she should set him up with some poodle that lives down the street from her.

"Nah," I tell her, "Owl wouldn't go for a poodle; he needs someone with a little spunk."

* * *

**September 17th, 2011**

"What's going on with her?" I ask as Kansas spars with me. She's good, I'll give her that, but I'm still holding back because she's not serum-good. Kansas knows this, but continues to spar with me anyway, not holding back, but not really trying. We're going through the motions more for the stretch of our muscles than any strengthening we'd gain.

She turns to see the object of my discussion: Agent Romanoff is sparring with some Trainees and seems to be in a bad mood. By this I mean she's _actually_ frowning rather than having a careful mask of neutrality. Kansas can read the Agent somewhat better than me and just takes a quick glance before turning back to me with a mean left hook.

"She's upset," Kansas says, "It's her birthday and not all of the usual revelers are here."

I immediately jump to the conclusion that someone died (not a bad assumption to make with SHIELD), but then quickly realize that Kansas wouldn't be this casual about someone dying, even if it was a stranger, so I guess a friend of Agent Romanoff's must be on a mission or something.

"A friend of hers on a mission?" I ask Kansas as I block a kick to my sternum.

"Yeah, and he's been gone for a long time. Safe, but tied up."

* * *

**October 7th, 2011**

"So what are we going to do now?" I ask Kansas, after having eaten some ice cream flavor she insisted I try- Graham Slam or some nonsense. It was…strange. But, Kansas loved it and Owl enjoyed eating what I refused to finish.

She shrugs, "I don't know but," suddenly, she freezes, her entire body going still. I'm immediately on alert, scanning for threats and I notice Agent Romanoff coming towards us. Kansas is no longer frozen, but is still, looking at the Agent curiously.

"There's someone here to see you, Kansas," she says, and the Agent _actually_ smiles- a full grin, teeth showing and everything. Suddenly, Kansas seems to regress to about five years old. She jumps up and down, hugs Agent Romanoff tightly, and wishes me a quick goodbye and dashes off, Owl not far behind her.

Agent Romanoff chuckles and explains to me, "Her brother's in town for her birthday."

Well that makes sense of the brunette's actions- I know how much Kansas seems to adore her brother. "Her birthday is coming up?" I ask, eyebrows raised. Should I do something for her? A present or something? I'm not sure what the etiquette for it is nowadays. Normally I'd ask Kansas, but….

"Today, actually," the SHIELD Agent informs me.

I look over at the red head, surprised, "But she didn't say anything."

"Well, she wouldn't." Agent Romanoff shrugs. "Good Afternoon, Captain. I'll see you later. I've got some things to do." And with that, the enigmatic woman struts away.

* * *

**December 22nd, 2011**

"What are you doing for Christmas, Steve?" Kansas asks me, looking at me carefully, as if to ascertain with absolute certainty whether or not I'll be lying when I next speak. I've always told her the truth, but she seems to do this to everyone, so I don't question it.

"I don't know," I explain. I'm not sure what to do for Christmas this year. It's always been me and Bucky, me and the Howling Commandos once we got started- I had dreams of having me and Peggy for Christmases of my future, but my future ended up taking place a little farther down the line than I thought.

"I've got an idea," she says, "Come with me."

First she takes us to a flower shop, where she spends about a half an hour trying to pick out several bouquets which I then pay for. Next, she drags me over to a taxi and refuses to explain where she's taking me after whispering our destination into the cabbie's ear. The old man driving the car is completely charmed by Kansas, chatting to her about this and that when he brings up some older music she is unfamiliar with. However, I am. This sparks a conversation about how music has changed over what the cabbie doesn't realize is my lifetime, and I'm distracted enough that when we stop, I pay the fare without paying attention to where we've gotten to before the cab has driven away with Christmas Greetings and compliments to me for getting such a pretty girl and Kansas for having such a sensitive guy. She waves and giggles while I blush.

That's when I notice where we are- a cemetery.

Kansas slips her hand into mine and starts leading me down the various rows with only a few hesitations here and there. Clearly, she's been here before, but not often.

I've been here plenty of times, but the scenery's changed a bit.

She stops at a familiar sight, and lets go of my hand only to place two bouquets in my grasp and take a few steps back while I stand before my parent's graves.

I look back at her, confused. She gives me a soft smile, "My dad and brother, they always make Christmas as much about honoring those who are gone as it is about celebrating those who are still here," she shrugs, "I figured it'd be important for you to honor those who are gone, so you can realize there are still people here."

Bucky has no grave, and the Commandos are buried in different locations across the world, so we place some flowers for Bucky and all the Commandos at a memorial erected in the cemetery for all those who had fought and died in the Second World War.

Kansas held my hand and leaded up against my shoulder while I cried, not saying anything, just letting me know that someone was _here_.

* * *

**April 12th, 2012**

I just needed a workout with some punching bags tonight. Kansas had called earlier, said she was sent on a job to Japan last-minute, so she wouldn't be back for a few weeks. When I suddenly felt disappointed- as if my heart had fallen a few inches, I got worried.

This could not be happening.

I was in love with Peggy.

Wait- _was_?

Peggy had died several years ago, while I was still in ice. Kansas had given me a file with her name on it and her history in it. She told me to only look if I wanted. Eventually, I worked up the courage to take a peek. I'm not sure what I was looking for, but I do know Peggy led an amazing life. She married, had kids, grandkids, helped found SHIELD, and did a thousand and one other things.

The last time I saw Peggy, talked to her, was what was, to me, ten months ago. It's almost a year, I suddenly realize. I am two months away from a year since I last spoke to Peggy and I wasn't really noticing the time passing anymore. I wasn't counting days in this strange place, I wasn't keeping track. I still thought of Peggy, but it wasn't usually with sadness. Not since I read her file. Since then, thoughts of Peggy came with pride, and I bit of happiness for her, it was slightly bittersweet, that I didn't get a chance to even dance with her, but she did perfectly fine without me.

But the thought of missing Kansas for a few weeks? And my heart stuttered painfully at it.

This was not good.

I still love Peggy- but is it the same now that she's gone and I'm here in this time?

The bag flies across the gym.

I don't think so.

I feel a bit guilty at that. And then turn to my other problem: I barely know anything about Kansas- she shouldn't have this much an effect on me.

SHIELD introduced her to me, but she doesn't work for them. I don't know what she does for a living. I don't know her last name; I know her brother named her Kansas. I know she has a brother she adores, but I don't know what his name is or what he does for a living other than it involves a lot of moving around. Her dog is named Owl and he's trained to guard her. From what, I don't know. She and Agent Romanoff are friends- enough for her to call the red head "Tasha" which I haven't heard anyone else call her but Fury on a few occasions.

I know she makes me feel better, I know she's made me wake up truly.

But that's all things I've observed or asked or that I have felt. She doesn't really tell me anything about herself.

Another bag gets punched off the chains. I pull up another one. My thoughts turn to what else had kept me up this night: the nightmares. I sigh. Each thought tonight has been blocking the visions that my eyes seem to never stop playing on the back of my eyelids. Only partially blocking, though. They seep through every thought- Kansas, Peggy, the time period; it's all bleeding with the images from the War, from the Crash, from the night Bucky fell.

I begin to punch the next bag. If I could just sweat the nightmares from me, I'd be ok.

"Trouble sleeping?" comes Director Fury's voice, echoing slightly in the old gym that only I use. Kansas comes here sometimes, once she even made me teach her to dance here. Apparently, dancing has really changed while I've been gone. She was a bit clumsy, but eventually got it with a lot of giggling in the meantime.

"I slept for seventy years, sir. I think I've had my fill," I tell the Director, not wanting to discuss my thoughts, whether it be nightmares or Kansas, with the man.

"Then you should be out," he tells me, walking closer while I continue to punch the bag, "Celebrating. Seeing the world." I wonder if Fury knows what I've been up to- Kansas pulls me out most of the time, bringing me to ice cream shops, flea markets, museums (not unless Agent Romanoff is with us, I've noticed), and a thousand other places.

He probably does. But I'm feeling like I'm drowning in my past, and that my future is a hazy mess of confusion, and the present isn't much better.

"I went under," I begin to say, leaving the punching bag since it seems it wouldn't solve any of my problems, "The world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost," I sigh. It's hard to believe so much has changed. So much has been swept away with the tides. Hitler may be gone, but I sometimes feel like someone is still trying to take away my freedom- my free will- my past from me.

"We've made some mistakes along the way," Fury says nonchalantly, and I think of all the wars that that museum had talked about. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of dying, in the years I had slept. "Some very recently." I look up at the Director, a bit confused as to what he was talking about. I continue to put away my stuff in my bag, but out of the corner of my eye I notice he's holding a file.

"You here with a mission, sir?" I'd almost welcome one- anything to drag me out of my own thoughts.

"I am."

"Trying to get me back in the world?" Back by fighting, I want to add.

"Trying to save it." He hands me the file and one glance is enough for me to take it and sit down. The blue, glowing energy source is painfully familiar to me- I see it in my nightmares.

"Hydra's secret weapon," I sigh, feeling every one of my ninety years in that moment.

"Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean," Fury tells me, and the name catches my attention and holds it- someone I know, someone who is gone, but someone I know. "When he was looking for you," Kansas had explained to me that many of my friends had refused to stop looking for me when the plane went down. I was both touched and saddened that they had never managed to find me. But I'm not sure which would be worse- having to wake up and find them all aged, so far ahead of me on the path of life, so far I could never really catch up- or to do as I am now: wake up alone. "He thought what we think," Fury continues, oblivious to my inner thoughts. "The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited, sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs." I fold up the file and hand it to the Director, reading between the lines.

"Who took it from you?"

"He's called Loki," the man says, taking the file off my hands, "He's…not from around here. There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know." I think about all the strange things I've already seen- not the least of which was the woman Fury himself had introduced to me.

"At this point I doubt anything would surprise me," I say, standing up to go.

"Ten bucks says you're wrong," I continue to gather up my stuff, and I take a punching bag with me- I can continue this workout in my place. "There's a debriefing packet waiting for you back at your apartment," Fury calls after me. "Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?" Fury asks as I continue to exit the gym. I think of everything about Hydra and what they had done with that energy source. There's really only one thing he needs to know.

"You should've left it in the ocean."


	40. Assemble the Avengers

**Super excited...we've got the beginning of the Avengers AND Phil! Oh my god Phil! Don't worry- he's not dead yet. ;) We've got quite a few chapters to go through for this. So guess what guys- there is no transcript of the Avengers online. Which means to write this accurately, I had to watch the movie (thank you, Netflix) while pausing every five seconds or so. I felt really bad about it, and didn't want to drive my family nuts with it, so I'm now writing this during the middle of the night while the rest of my family goes to sleep. :) It's like I'm being sneaky...but really I'm just trying to be courteous. **

**Here it is though! Next chapter will be Tasha's POV. It's amazing how these guys react to Clint's being taken over (I also wrote a little interlude that's Clint's POV of Loki taking over...I love it. I'm actually really proud of it) so that'll go up eventually. I still have all of Phil's Gifts to put up.  
**

**Also, guys- Phil's about to meet Captain America.**

**Please, read, review, PM me, ect. Thanks to all those who have!**

* * *

And there came a day, a day unlike any other, when Earth's mightiest heroes and heroines found themselves united against a common threat. On that day, the Avengers were born—to fight the foes no single superhero could withstand! Through the years, their roster has prospered, changing many times, but their glory has never been denied! Heed the call, then—for now, the Avengers Assemble!

* * *

**April 11th, 2012 (Phil)**

I'm in New Mexico working on the Tesseract, visiting Clint who is sulking about being away from home for so long, when Dr. Selvig reports an energy spike. Evacuation commences, and within a few hours, Hill and Fury are standing in front of me.

"How bad is it?" Fury shouts from over the helicopter's whirling.

"That's the problem, sir," I tell him and Agent Hill. "We don't know."

I take them both down to the observation area and begin debriefing them.

"Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from the Tesseract four hours ago."

"NASA didn't authorize Selvig to go to test phase," Fury complains.

"He wasn't testing," I tell him, "He wasn't even in the room. Spontaneous event."

"It just turned itself on?" Agent Hill asks incredulously.

"What are the energy levels now?" Fury demands.

"Climbing," I continue the debrief, "When Selvig couldn't shut it down, we ordered an evac."

"How long to get everyone out?" Fury asks, seeing how we're still evacuating now.

"Campus should be clear within the next half-hour."

"Do better," Fury says, and I nod and turn to go see to it the Director's orders are followed.

It's a few minutes later and evac is almost done, when suddenly the ground shakes. I'm fairly certain that _wasn't_ an earthquake. I don't believe in coincidences.

I finish evacuationg everyone, trusting Barton to take care of the downstairs. Eventually I can feel the building about to collapse.

Something's gone wrong.

"We're clear upstairs, sir," I radio the Director, "You need to go."

I pull away in the car I'm in and watch the shockwave destroy the campus. I feel a little sick, wondering where Clint is.

_He's fine_. I try to convince myself, but for some reason it sounds like a lie.

"Director," I say into the radio when I see Fury's helicopter go down, "Director Fury do you copy?"

"The Tesseract is with a hostile force," Fury informs me quickly, "I have men down. Hill?" he says, waiting for Hill to come onto the channel.

"A lot of men still under," I hear the Agent's voice, sounding slightly strained, "Don't know how many survivors."

"Sound a general call. I want every living soul not working rescue looking for that briefcase," Fury instructs her.

"Roger that," Hill replies, ever Fury's right-hand woman.

"Coulson," the Director speaks to me again, "Get back to base. This is a level seven. As of right now, we are at war."

"What do we do?" I ask.

* * *

**April 12th, 2012**

I'm not sure what to do when Fury informs me Barton's been more than compromised- he's been taken over. I watch the video surveillance that the techs salvaged back at the New York base and I feel a sick twist in my gut as the dark-haired god- _Loki_- takes his staff and fires at Clint, who dodges while the Agents behind him fall.

My gut drops when I see Loki block Clint's attack and speak.

"You have heart," I hear over the static of the video.

_I have never met someone with more conviction._

I feel physically ill as I watch Loki take his staff and press it against Clint's heart.

That's when I see Clint disappear before my own eyes and a monster take over his body.

I have never felt so useless.

I have never felt so guilty.

I have never felt so unable to help or reach the man who is practically my son in all the ways that matter.

The next thought in my head is: what about Arlie? My daughter in all the ways that matter.

If Loki has Clint's mind under his control, will he come after Arlie? I feel sick all over again.

"Kansas," I manage to choke out to Fury.

"We'll send her somewhere. A business trip. We'll keep her safe and away from here," he promises me quickly, as if desperate to prove it to himself as well. "Where is Loki least likely to hit?" he yells at an aide. They scurry to find data or _something_ to answer the Director but I can't focus on it because _I sent him on that mission. I told him to guard the Tesseract. I allowed this to happen. What will I tell Arlie?_ I can practically hear Arlie's voice in my head, telling me it's not my fault, but the guilt that's settled into my throat in the form of a lump won't dissipate.

I have to get him back, there is no other option.

"Sir," I begin, but my voice is too quiet. "Sir," I try again, but Fury is busy chewing out the aide to hear me, so I shout, "SIR!"

The entire room turns to me and I stand straight and look at the Director. I will _not_ let Arlie lose her brother like this. I will _not_ let Clint remain under Loki's control. _That god messed with the wrong father._

"It's time to start the initiative. We need to assemble the Avengers."

Fury is silent for a moment, two. Then he nods. "Get Agent Romanoff to track down Banner, I'll get the Captain, and then get Tony damn Stark in on this. We're taking Loki down if I have to arm wrestle him to the ground myself."

_You won't have to_, I think, _I'll already have him on the ropes._

I finally track down Tasha, she's on a deep cover mission so she won't have her cell on her or her SHIELD comm, but I get the number of one of her target's top men and I have eyes on the scene ready with some firepower. I'm not messing around.

The phone rings a few times before the goon answers.

"Put the woman on the phone," I say quickly. I hear him pass over the phone.

I don't bother listening to the man who begins talking next before I say "You're at 114 Solenzki Plaza, 3rd floor. We have an F22 exactly 8 miles out. Put the woman on the phone," I demand again, "or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby." Silence. Then I speak to Tasha, "We need you to come in."

Her voice is delightfully normal after witnessing a Norse god magically take over Clint's mind. "Are you kidding? I'm working." She's practically whining- hard to believe it's the infamous, emotionless Black Widow, but the Bartons turned her into a person for us all.

"This takes precedence," I say, wondering how to explain to her what's happened to Clint. I know how much he means to her.

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation. This moron is giving me everything." She pauses and under better circumstances, I'd laugh- trust Tasha to insult someone with the facts as she's tied to a chair. "Look, you can't pull me out of this right now."

I decide to be direct, "Tasha," I say, because I don't want to talk to the Black Widow, I don't want to talk to Agent Romanoff. I want to talk to Tasha, who loves Clint and is a part of our family. "Barton's been compromised," and with those words, I know Tasha will be here faster than one of her bullets.

There is silence and then her voice, colder and more steely than I've heard it since she first came to SHIELD, crackles towards me over the phone. "Let me put you on hold."

I can practically hear Clint in my head, snarking: "That's Tasha-speak for "let me beat up some assholes."" The thought of it keeps me calm. The knowledge that the Black Widow is about to come after Loki assures me.

We'll have Clint back within a week.

I wait patiently as I hear Tasha clean up her interrogation and mentally count out how long it takes her to clear the room.

It was about thirty-five seconds later when her voice is back on the cell. "Where is Barton now?"

"We don't know," I admit, watching the video that's come up before me as aides go through Barton's file. It was the Ivory Coast, the Abidjan Operation.

"But he's alive?" Tasha confirms.

"We think so," I tell her, "I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy," I tell her, wanting this team assembled five months ago.

"Coulson," Tasha says and I can hear her smirk over the phone, "You know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me."

"Oh," I tell her, enjoying this moment of normalcy to the fullest as I tease her a little. "I've got Stark. You get the big guy."

I hear a Russian curse and smile a little. We've got Iron Man, the Hulk, Captain America, and the Black Widow coming after Clint. They're all _filled_ with conviction. I take comfort in that. If Loki needed someone with heart, he couldn't have picked anyone better than Clint, but clearly- if that's what he's looking for, he doesn't have much of it himself. That's why we'll win.

Clint's in good hands. We're going to get him back.

There's quite simply no other option.

* * *

**April 13th, 2012**

I hate dealing with Tony Stark almost as much as Tasha does. He ignores my first call, and then when I override JARVIS (thank you Arlie, for teaching me a few things) he gives me sass.

"Mr. Stark, we need to talk."

"You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark," says the man himself, "Please leave a message."

Thank god I'm already in the elevator.

"This is urgent," I try to explain to the man.

"Then leave it urgently." As he finishes talking the doors open and I walk into the top floor of Stark Tower.

"Security breach," Stark says, "It's on you."

"Mr. Stark," I beign.

Pepper sees me and turns around "Phil!" she exclaims, "Come in."

"I can't stay," I tell her while she and Tony have one of their overlapping conversations- Tasha had warned me about these. They were troublesome according to the red head, but entertaining when you weren't trying to get work done.

"We need you to look this over," I say, holding the file out to Stark, "As soon as possible."

"I don't…like being handed things-,"

Pepper cuts in before he finishes his sentence, "That's alright because I love to be handed things, so let's trade." And suddenly I'm holding a champagne flute. I give Pepper a small smile, because she's always been nice and willing to help you work around Tony Stark and all his various…compulsions.

"Offical consulting hours are between 8 and 5," Stark tells me as Pepper rolls her eyes. "Every other Thursday."

"This isn't a consultation," I tell Stark, wanting to just grab the man and go. But that woulnd't get us anywhere and I try to channel Tasha's manipulation skills to get Stark working to help get Clint back and stop Loki.

"Is this about the Avengers?" Pepper asks, and I look over at her, she seems to realize she's said too much because she covers with "Which I-I know nothing about."

"The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought," Stark says as he pulls apart his electronic file to read it. "And I didn't even qualify."

"I didn't know that either," Pepper interjects.

"Yeah apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others." _Good job, Tasha_, I thought, _You've made an impression._

"That I did know," Pepper teased.

"This isn't about personality profiles anymore," I tell them.

"Whatever," Tony Stark brushes me aside while calling over Pepper. I try to ignore the couple before me and offer Pepper a ride as she asks me about Janine. We leave Stark to his "homework."

* * *

**April 14th, 2012**

I'm in a plane with Captain America. I'm in a _plane_ with _Captain America_. It's never fully hit me that my hero was alive and kicking, despite my practical daughter (a nickname I had come up with for Arlie when she told me I was her father for all practical purposes. "A practical dad," she'd called me, and then I told her that made her my "practical daughter.") spending half of her time with him for the past ten months.

"So this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?" Captain Rogers asks as I move over to him. God, am I intimidated. I can hear Tasha in my head lecturing me how he's just like any other person, serum or not, but it's not having much of an effect.

"A lot of people were. You were the world's first superhero," I explain to the man as he continues to examine the file. "Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine's original formula."

"Didn't really go his way, did it?" he replies, sounding saddened and a little bitter.

"Not so much," is all I can really say to that. "When he's not that thing, though, guy's like a…Stephen Hawking." I realize as Captain Rogers looks up at me that the reference was lost on him. What has Arlie been teaching him? "He's like a…smart person." I try to explain.

Ok- _that's_ why Arlie was asked to watch over Captain Rogers as he transitioned and not me.

"I gotta say," I tell the man "It's an honor to meet you officially. I've sort of meet you- I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping." I can hear Arlie laughing at me in my head and I try to save myself. "I mean I was- I was present while you were unconscious- from the ice. You know it's really just a- a huge honor to have you on board." There, that only was drowning slightly in my own words.

"I hope I'm the man for the job," he says with a sigh.

"Oh you are. Absolutely," I try to encourage him. "Ah- we made some modifications to the uniform. I had a little design input."

"The uniform?" he sounds surprised, "Aren't the stars and stripes a little…old fashioned?" he sounds almost shamed, and I can't let that stand.

"With everything that's happened, the things that are about to come to light," I tell him, "People might just need a little old fashioned."

There, that sounded like me. The voice of Arlie in my head is teasing about how I just gave fatherly advice to Captain America- who is technically over thirty years my senior.

Oh, we need to get Clint back soon so we can tell her all about this. Once she's done being mad about us protecting her, she'll be cracking up.

The plane lands and the Captain and I walk out to see Tasha striding towards us.

"Agent Romanoff," I say with a nod, "Captian Rogers."

"We've met," Tasha says as Captain Rogers nods at her with a "ma'am."

"Hi," Tasha says casually (why can't I do that?) before turning to me, "They need you on the bridge, they're starting the face-trace."

"See you there," I tell her, before heading off.

Duty calls.


	41. Interlude: Phil's Gifts Part 2

**So I don't have another chapter for you today- definitely by tomorrow, though. But here we have a lovely interlude that continues the tales of Phil's presents from the Bartons. :D**

**It's adorable.**

**And I'd like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone. The response to this story is overwhelming and not at all what I thought it would be- it's so much more. I really really appreciate every single follow, favorite, and review. You're fabulous people. Seriously.**

**More to the point: the interlude. Please, read, review, ect. Enjoy!**

* * *

**The Shield- July 4th, 2007 (Arlie)**

"I like flea markets," Clint insists to me, but I just roll my eyes. He's been dragging me around all day and since it's July, it's _hot_ and I want a department store with air conditioning, not an outdoor flea market. But Mr. Super-spy-trained-for-shit barely notices the rising temperature or shrugs and says "it's worse in so-and-so."

I've decided to strangle him with my bare hands when I see it. My eyes widen, my hand shoots out to grip my brother's arm tightly to stop him from walking away. Clint sees my face and immediately assumes the worst, stepping closer to me, hand falling to one of his concealed weapons, eyes scanning the crowd. Then he sees it, too.

"Oh, man."

"Right?" I ask in a breathless voice, heat forgotten. There, in a bin filled with stuff, we can faintly see the star of Captain America. My brother and I look at each other briefly before hustling over there.

"Hello, how are you?" says the person whose stall this is.

"Hi, we're good, how are you?" I answer while my brother begins digging through the bin with a vengeance.

"Oh, could be cooler," the salesperson jokes. I laugh and nod in agreement with her before I go to help Clint.

We finally get down to what had been barely visible except for a Captain America star and we softly gasp.

"Oh, yeah," said the woman, "That's some old toy my granddad had. We're cleaning out all his old stuff, trying to get rid of it. You like it?"

I turn to look at the salesperson, incredulous. How does she not realize what this is?

I examine the replica Shield. They had made this for kids to play with, but they were supposed to be the actual size of Cap's own Shield. "How much would you like for it?" I ask. I have maybe ten bucks in my pocket and there's no ATM in sight. I've got no clue what Clint has on him, but we've been shopping pretty much all day so it can't be much.

The woman thinks for a moment and then says, "Fifteen?"

I pull out my ten and look at Clint. He fishes around his wallet and finally pulls out four ones and some change to make up the other dollar.

"Thanks so much," I say, "Our dad loves stuff like this and he'll be over the moon when we give it to him."

"Oh- late Father's Day gift?" the salesperson asks.

"No- his birthday's coming up soon," Clint says, as he struggles to fit the replica Shield into his bag.

"Oh, well I hope he likes it! I'm glad to get it out of my house," she jokes.

"Oh my god- I can't believe we found that," I say to Clint as we walk back to my apartment. "I guess flea markets aren't so bad."

Clint grins and throws an arm around my shoulders, ignoring the sticky heat that makes me cringe away from his body heat, "I knew I'd convince you."

"Wasn't you- Captain America convinced me."

"Damn- you like Captain America better than me?" My brother plays at being offended, but he's grinning as I laugh at him.

"Oh, duh."

* * *

**The T-Shirt- Christmas 2007**

I'm walking through the department store with Tasha (who is _much_ more sensible about shopping than my brother- she likes air conditioning in the summer and heat in the winter) when I pass by an old thrift store.

"Come on," I tell Tasha, "In here."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why?" You can always trust Tasha to tell it to you straight; she won't go into this thrift store until I tell her why.

"When I was growing up, a lot of my clothes were from thrift stores. It was cheap and easy for the families that were taking care of me, and for the orphanages- they were able to buy a lot of clothes for a lot of kids. I hated it forever, until one day one of the girls told me to make a game out of it. You have to find the most hideous thing you can and whoever you're playing with has to try it on. Winner is the person who looks least like an idiot."

Tasha raises an eyebrow at me and seems to think for a moment. "Ok," she finally pronounces and she follows me into the store.

I know Tasha doesn't want to play this game with me, but seeing the thrift store just brought back memories of doing this while skirting around directors and foster parents and I want to do it with someone who I know I'll still be hanging around with in a year and without having to sneak around disapproving adults.

I'm digging through a bin in an attempt to find a hideous Christmas sweater I can force Tasha to wear and then maybe buy for Clint as a joke, when I come across it. It's an old tee shirt, worn in all the right places to be comfortable, and it's got a design on the front- Captain America's star.

I swear I could recognize that symbol in my sleep by now.

"Tasha!" I yell and she's with me in seconds, scanning the room for potential threats. God, she has been spending _way_ too much time with my brother. "Look," I say, showing her the shirt. Both eyebrows twitch but stay in place as she examines it.

"It is still in relatively decent shape," she declares, "And it's Phil's size. You want to get him this for Christmas?"

"From both of us- Clint will be all upset because he hasn't found anything Cap related for Phil this Christmas. We'll definitely get points for awesome present skills."

"There's a point system?" asks Tasha, her eyebrows coming together.

"Not one anybody follows," I tell her with a shrug. "It's really more metaphoric."

* * *

**The Ninth Card- July 4th, 2008**

"So I'm in Singapore," my brother says when I answer the phone.

"God- is this going to cost me? Clint- I don't have international calling free of charge."

"Shut up, munchkin it's fine. Now listen- check your list of Captain America memorabilia. I want to know if there is anything in Singapore. I remember something on there being here."

I go over to my computer and boot it up. I'd compiled my list of Captain America memorabilia and have several programs running to track it down across the world. I've followed it throughout time- from sales to wills that bequeath things away, to simply being lost in the records until it pops up one day in someone's living room.

I've even got a program that searches social media for mentions of Cap stuff.

"Singapore, Singapore," I say under my breath as I quickly scan through the list I have. The back of my head wonders what Clint's even doing in Singapore since his mission was originally in Thailand. I assume that his target has started running, but my brother's paused his hunt to look for Captain America stuff for Phil's birthday. We haven't gotten him anything really good since Christmas two years ago. And by really good I mean a card. Phil loves the other stuff, but his passion is the cards.

"_Shit_- Clint- there's a card in Singapore!" I tell him.

"Where?" my brother asks.

I give him the address of an auction house that plans to sell it off and I tell my brother to break out some cash from his pre-SHIELD account. My brother makes good money with SHIELD, and is so well set up now he could retire and live to be about ninety on his savings, not including the pre-SHIELD account. Modestly, but he could do it. However, with his search for redemption, and the knowledge that if he ever did retire, there would be a line around the block of people waiting to kill him, it's not really going to happen.

About four hours later Clint calls me.

"I've got it, it's a number nine card with the _weirdest_ shit on it," he tells me, sounding almost perplexed.

"What is it?"

"It's a cartoon drawing of Cap and he's fighting…a sea monster? It's got "Horror Seas" written on it with some cheesy font."

"Phil won't care- he'll love it."

"Damn right he will. Those programs you made are amazing."

"I know," I say with a cheeky grin. My brother just chuckles and tells me he'll be home in a few days.

"Don't lose Cap while you're over there- I'll never forgive you."

"I won't lose your precious Captain, Arlie. Promise."

* * *

**The Fourth Card- Christmas 2008**

Clint tells me he's going to Tanzania and I immediately search the list for any Cap stuff that might be there.

"Well, there's nothing in my programs," I tell him with a sigh.

"Crap, but it's almost Christmas. We need to find something soon."

"I know, we'll get him something. We just might not be able to manage anything Captain America-related."

"Well, I'll keep my eyes peeled anyway. You never know. Did I tell you about how I found the first card I gave him in Cairo?"

"Only about a million times, bird brain."

"Alright, alright- no need to be so snappy. I'll see you in a few weeks, ok?"

"Yeah, be careful."

When he comes home his arm is in a sling since his shoulder had been badly dislocated and he hadn't been able to pop it back in for himself (ew.) but he's got a shit-eating grin on his face.

"What?" I ask. He keeps grinning. "_What_?"

"You're program doesn't know shit."

"Huh?"

He whips out something from his pocket and holds it in front of my face. It's so close to my nose I have trouble focusing on it but when I do I see Captain America striding towards me with determination in his eyes and some dingy clothes over his stars-and-stripes uniform, shield in hand.

"Damn. Is that a number four card?"

"Damn right it is. I found it in Tanzania."

"Where?"

"You'll never guess."

I wait for him to tell me. After realizing I'm not going to guess, he tells me.

"Ok- a Captain America card in a church? No _way_ is Phil going to believe us."

"Who are you kidding? Phil would totally keep his cards in a church."

* * *

**The Pajamas- July 4th, 2009**

This year we literally couldn't find anything for Phil's birthday. We were getting more and more frustrated when I finally came up with a solution.

"Why don't we just make him something? Isn't that supposed to be more meaningful or some crap?"

"Yeah- except neither of us is really good in the arts and crafts department," my brother sighs. "I can make arrows, and you can make computer stuff appear out of thin air but anything else," he throws up his hands in a gesture of nothing-ness with a "pfft" sound.

"We could always have something custom-made. That's like making something, right? Just because we didn't do it doesn't make it less meaningful. Yeah?"

My brother thinks carefully for a long moment, "What should we have made? Captain America tee shirt?"

"Tasha and I already got him one."

"From a thrift store."

"Still counts."

"Well, he already has a mug, too."

"Cuff-links?"

"No- that's just weird."

"Doll?" I giggle. Clint starts cracking up, imagining Phil cuddling a Captain America doll.

"I can just see him! Oh my god, I can't stop laughing." We both know Phil should not be messed with, but an image of a little Phil at about five years old holding a Captain America doll is too priceless for words.

"I've got it!" my brother says between laughs, "We should have custom Captain America pajamas made!"

I'm roaring with laughter now but I have enough energy to nod and open up my computer to search for a company who will make us custom Captain America pajamas.

Phil's face when he opened up his gift was priceless.

Clint and I didn't stop laughing for days.


	42. Precedence

**New chapter! We're seeing things from Tasha's perspective now and...I just love her. Oh- by the way (since I forgot to say this yesterday): Happy Belated Mother's Day to all you fabulous Mother's out there, or Moms-to-be, or Other Moms (I have lots of those- they're wonderful women who act and love me like a mom and I did take time on Mother's day for them, because family and love is about more than just blood). **

**Anywho, so the Avengers are assembling, Tasha's meeting Banner here which was a super fun scene to write, and judging how things are playing out, Arlie should be here within two chapters or so. Yeah- I'm gonna say two chapters.**

**Please, read, review, PM me, request any interludes you'd like to see (I'm thinking of writing some Clintasha ones since I realized that I don't have much of their moments here, simply because this story is mostly about Arlie and her effect on people rather than any particular romance so there's that), and, as always, enjoy!**

* * *

**April 12th, 2012 (Natasha)**

It's dark in the warehouse they're trying to torture me in, and they're doing a miserable job of it.

_This kinda reminds me of The Godfather._

Overdone, overplayed, and such a cliché.

Thug Number One gives me a punch across the face, and I grunt to satisfy them.

"This is not how I wanted this evening to go," Luchkov, the lead goon, says to me in Russian.

I reply in the same language, "I know how you wanted this evening to go. Believe me, this is better."

"Who are you working for? Lermentov, yes?" I take note of the name- time to find out some things. I've been undercover for over a month on this particular mission, and I'm actually embarrassed it's taken me this long. This guy is a moron.

Thug Number One strides up to me and tilts the chair I'm tied to back over the edge of the open loading bay.

Amateurs. They haven't tied my feet, the chair they've got me tied to is wood and thus breakable, and I _know_ they won't be tossing me over the edge any time soon.

"Does he think," Luchkov continues to question me, "we have to go through him to move our cargo?" _And here we go_, I think, _information_.

I keep an eye on Thug One, as he brings the chair legs back to the ground, giving the impression of a terrified girl. "I thought General Solohob was in charge of the export business." Interrogation tip: people don't like to answer questions, but they _love_ to contradict you.

"Solohob?" the man almost sneers, "a bagman, a front. Your outdated information betrays you," _And your idiocy betrays you._ "The famous Black Widow. And she turns out to be simply another pretty face."

"You really think I'm pretty?" I can't help but snark, clearly channeling some sort of Barton gene for a moment.

Luchkov smirks at Thug One and moves to the table. The thug in question opens up my mouth and looks down at me. Ah- lovely. They're going after my teeth. I had my wisdom teeth removed without anesthesia; I can easily handle this if it even comes to that.

"Tell Lermentov we don't need him to move the tanks." _So you're moving tanks and probably other weaponry, thank you for telling me._ "Tell him he is out. Well," Luchkov suddenly switches to English. "You may have to write it down."

I struggle lightly against Thug One, and I'm ready to being Phase Two of this interrogation when Thug Number Two's phone goes off. He answers and turns to Luchkov, looking confused. "It's for her." He says, unsure what to do.

"You listen carefully," Luchkov begins pompously but stops suddenly and gives me the phone, clearly cowed.

"We need you to come in," I recognize Phil's voice. I'm annoyed.

"Are you _kidding_? I'm working." I've worked _hard_ on this particular mission.

"This takes precedence," Phil tells me. What on earth is he talking about?

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation. This moron is giving me everything."

"I don't…give everything," the moron himself tries to convince to his thugs. I give him a look.

"Look, you can't pull me out of this right now," I complain to Phil.

"Tasha," Phil says, and that's when I know it's serious. "Barton's been compromised." Phil's voice sounds like he's holding back the emotion that is waiting to be unleashed. My whole world narrows down to the phone between my ear and shoulder for that moment. All I can hear is the slight static of the cell, the blood rushing in my ears, and my own heartbeat, which I had always noticed was synced up with Clint's.

_Compromised, not dead_, I remind myself. _We can get him back. You can save him. He saved you_. I'm terrified, but I'm also pissed. I take the anger and I use it to do my own brand of transformation: I'm no longer Agent Romanoff; I'm not even the Black Widow. I'm Natasha Romanoff, Nat, and I want Clint back.

This is too easy.

"Let me put you on hold."

I give Luchkov who is standing before me a look, and he reaches to take the phone. As he leans forward I kick out his knee and once he's on the ground, I bash his head with my own. I'll have a headache tomorrow, but I'll also have Clint. There's no other option.

Thugs One and Two come at me and first I kick Two onto his ass. Thug One takes a swing and I duck underneath, still tied to the chair. I swing it around so the legs hit him in his lower back and he goes down. I roll quickly as I see Two getting up and knock him with the bottom of the seat of the chair, as he bends over I use the legs again and stomp on his feet. Hard. My head goes back again and smacks into what I assume, judging by the feel, is his nose. I sweep him to the ground with the chair legs with a quick pivot on my feet.

Thank god I'm not wearing my heels.

One comes towards me again, and I kick out his knee. I prefer using my legs in a fight anyways; it's not an issue my hands are still tied, but I'm getting bored with this.

I need to get out of here now. I jump off of Two's crouched back to slam onto the leader's spine with the chair separating us. It smashes to smithereens and I have two handy wood batons strapped to my wrists now.

Isn't that _nice_ of them to give me these?

Two grabs me from behind but I grasp his wrist and twist it. He screams in my ear and I twist so I can hit him in what is probably his liver or one of his kidneys with a wooden baton and then smack him across the spine. I drop the sticks and jump up on One, who was lurking behind Two waiting for me, and I kick off of his sternum. I land on the ground, but a quick flip has me back on my feet (thank you Clint for acrobat training) and I'm running towards the last standing thug (I can't remember if he's One or Two at this point, and I don't much care).

I jump and wrap my thighs around his neck, flipping myself and bringing him to the ground with a crash that stuns him and probably ruins his spine for the rest of his life. Luchkov is slowly coming to consciousness, and I quickly dash over to him. Noticing a handy chain, I grab it, take advantage of the moron's stunned confusion to bash his head on a metal pole, grab his ankle when he throws up his leg in an attempt to regain balance, twist the chain around it, and push him over the edge. Luchkov is left hanging for SHIELD to pick up and interrogate later.

I pad over to the cell in my stocking feet, pick it up, grab my heels (they are _really_ nice shoes- and Arlie bought them for me for my last birthday) and ask Phil.

"Where's Barton now?"

"We don't know," he admits.

"But he's alive." I say, unwilling to accept any other alternative.

"We think so," Phil's keeping himself cool, trying to restrain his emotion. We can't let our judgment get cloudy now. Clint needs us at the top of our game, and that means compartmentalizing. "I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first we need you to talk to the big guy."

I roll my eyes, "Coulson, you know Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me."

"Oh," Phil interjects, "I've got Stark. You get the big guy."

I suddenly understand just who I'm going after.

"боже мой." (My god)

_I need to call Arlie_.

* * *

**April 13th, 2012**

In the Indian village where Bruce Banner is hiding and working as a Doctor, I find a little girl who's hungry and in need of some help. I teach her a few moves to help keep the bullies and those who would hurt her away, give her some dinner and offer her some cash if she does me a favor.

_She's got the sweetest grin,_ I think as she dashes off to lure the Doctor to me. _She'd be a great actress someday_. I hope her dreams aren't derailed like mine.

I wait patiently and eventually she comes in and sneaks out the window, just like I taught her. I examine the doctor, who softly sighs to himself, "You should have got paid up front, Banner."

He seems scruffy and tired. His outfit was probably once professional and casual by American standards, but it's ragged now and dirty.

"You know, for a man who's supposed to be avoiding stress," I say, coming out from behind the division, revealing myself to the Doctor. "You've picked a hell of a place to settle."

He looks over at me, distrust all over his face- I don't even need to read his micro expressions for that.

"Avoiding stress isn't the secret," he says, putting his bag down carefully. I'm more than a little intimidated by Dr. Banner. He's got a raging green monster that could snap me like a twig. It's something I can't fight, I can only run from.

I've never had to face anything like it before.

But Phil says we need Dr. Banner to get Clint back, which means that Dr. Banner will be coming with me. No other option.

"Then what is it?" I snark, channeling Clint somehow, "Yoga?" I'm beginning to see why Clint does this when he's stressed or scared- helps make you feel like you've got a bit more control over the situation. I think, however, my method of silent intimidation might be more effective in typical circumstances.

The Doctor is nervous, rubbing his hands together and grinning uncomfortably at me. I'm sure if Arlie were here she'd be sympathetic, lecturing me about how Dr. Banner has had enough of a hard time as it is, I don't need to be insensitive. Arlie would probably have _the Hulk_ in love with her within one conversation.

I'm not Arlie.

"You brought me to the edge of the city. Smart," the Doctor comments, pacing around the room. "I, uh, assume the whole place is surrounded."

"Just you and me," I lie, shedding my wrap and placing it off to the side, stepping closer to the Doctor. Manipulation 101: people are more likely to listen to you if you're nearby.

"And your actress buddy?" he asks, gesturing to the window from which the little girl had escaped, hopefully into a better world where she can protect herself. "Is she a spy, too? They start that young?"

Dr. Banner is severally delusional if he thinks that's uncommon in this world. "I did." I tell him, wishing for Clint again. He didn't make me feel somehow lesser or, worse, pathetic for my past. Dr. Banner's certainly managing the latter.

"Who are you?" he asks, and it's a question I get asked often. The answer is usually a cover name, though.

"Natasha Romanoff," I tell the Doctor with a slight shrug. I don't feel very Natasha Romanoff right now- I wonder if she can exist without Clint Barton.

"Are you here to kill me, Ms. Romanoff?" the Doctor asks after a short pause. "Because that's not going to work out for everyone."

"No no," I reply, stepping forward, "I'm here on behalf of SHIELD."

The Doctor looks puzzled and mutters to himself "SHIELD," before turning back to me. "How did they find me?"

"We never lost you, Doctor," I say, trying to let him know that we've been helping him, letting him live his life without our interference except to keep him safe. Fury's been putting Ross on false scents since 2008, almost eight years ago now. I want Banner to feel he _owes_ us. I want him to help however Phil sees him helping so Clint is back. "We've kept our distance, even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent."

"Why?"

"Nick Fury seems to trust you," I tell the man and it's true. Despite the problems the Barton siblings have with Fury (Clint: a total lack of trust, and a minor lack of respect that he blows out of proportion to push the Director's buttons; Arlie: lack of trust and resentment), Phil and I have little issue with the Director of SHIELD. I don't know what it is Fury sees in Bruce Banner, but he trusts the man to have control over the Hulk. To _want_ control over the Hulk. He thinks he should be an Avenger, for Christsake. The Avenger Initiative is Phil's baby, and Fury has a hefty respect for Phil. He wouldn't add _anyone_ to the ranks unless he truly, deeply believed in them. "But now we need you to come in."

"What if I say no?" the Doctor asks, clearly nervous and a little frightened. Not for himself, but for the potential of the Hulk being released, I think.

"I'll persuade you," I answer with a smirk. I'm not going to let this man walk away when he could help Clint. I don't care _what_ he's frightened of.

"And what if the…other guy says no?" he asks cautiously.

"You've been more than a year without an incident," I say, beginning to gamble. I hope some of Clint's luck is with me, because I really don't want to lose this bet. "I don't think you want to break that streak." I move to go grab my phone, watching Dr. Banner as I do so. He plays with a wooden cradle as he answers.

"Well, I don't every time get what I want."

I'm tired with his reluctance now. I want him to understand the scale of things.

"Doctor, we're facing a potential global catastrophe."

He actually chuckles, "Well, those I _actively_ try to avoid."

I pull the Tesseract up on my phone, moving to a table to sit as I explain to the Doctor what SHIELD wants from him for now. "This," I start explaining, showing him the photo on my cell, "Is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet." Dr. Banner moves towards me, putting on some glasses and takes a closer look. I wait for his response.

"What does Fury want me to do? Swallow it?" Ah- he assumes we want the Hulk. Time to change that.

"He wants you to find it," I tell Banner, leaning in. "It's been taken." _And so has Clint_. "It admits a gamma signature that's…too weak for us to trace. There's no one that knows gamma radiation like you do. If there was," I lean back into my chair, affecting nonchalance. "That's where I'd be."

Banner looks skeptical, taking of his glasses and beginning to cross-examine me. I was trained for this since childhood though- I doubt a Doctor with no interrogation training can outdo me. "So, Fury isn't after the monster."

"Not that he's told me."

"And he tells you everything?" I almost want to laugh at Banner's questions- we're spies. No one tells anyone everything.

"Talk to Fury, he needs you on this," I say leaning forward to retrieve my phone.

"He needs me in a cage?"

"No one is going to put you in a cage-"

"Stop lying to me!" he shouts, banging his hands onto the table. Within seconds I have my gun out and pointing at the Doctor. I'm shaking slightly, but nothing has trained me for the Hulk.

He backs up with a small grin. "I'm sorry, that was mean." What does he think this is? Kindergarten? "I just wanted to see what you'd do."

If I wasn't so frightened, I'd be impressed.

He continues, "Why don't we…do this the easy way where you don't use that," he points to my gun, "and the…other guy doesn't make a mess?" I'm trying to get my heartbeat back under control. For a crazed moment I panic, thinking it's no longer synced with Clint's. "OK? Natasha?" the Doctor's voice cuts into my alarm and I put the gun down slowly. Now for some embarrassment.

"Stand down. We're good here," I tell the Agents on the other side of my comm. I'm not looking forward to the Doctor's reaction to this.

"Just you and me?" he quotes. I hate being caught in a lie. Hurts my professional pride. However, I'm still a bit shaky and I back away from Banner slightly, silent.

_Crap. Now what?_


	43. Love Is For Children

**Would you like another chapter? I would. Today I managed to get a load done (five and a half chapters including this one!) so that means (drum roll please) I'll be posting daily again!**

**Let's take a moment to appreciate Natasha Romanoff. Because she is what this chapter focuses on and I adore her. If I could be anyone other than myself, I'd be Natasha Romanoff as portrayed by Scarlett Johansson. Because both actress and character are too fabulous for words. Fun fact: in an interview, when asked about the lack of a romantic subplot in The Avengers, Scarlett Johansson said "There's no time for romance. We've got shit to avenge."**

**I love her.**

**So, please: read, review, PM me, request interludes, and enjoy!**

* * *

**April 14th, 2012 (Natasha)**

The deck of the hellicarrier is busy with planes as I walk Captain Rogers over to Dr. Banner.

"So has Coulson asked you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?" I can't resist teasing Phil even when he's not around to appreciate it. If Clint was with me, he'd be _crying_ for laughing so hard. I'll tell him all about my talk with Captain America when he's back.

"Trading cards?" he asks, smirking slightly.

"They're vintage," I reply, "he's very proud." Not the least because most of them came from Arlie and Clint.

"Kansas had called- said she had a job in Japan?" he changes the subject as we near Dr. Banner.

"Yes, but I think she'll be returning sooner than expected." Or she will be now. I promised Phil I wouldn't call her home, but he hadn't made me promise to lie if she called me, and I decided _not_ to mention how I had left her a message before I went to get Dr. Banner. Details are important.

"Oh?" he asks, his eyebrows coming together. I say nothing.

"Dr. Banner," Captain Rogers says as we come up to the scientist.

"Oh, yeah, hi," The Doctor says as he shakes hands with the super soldier. "They told me you'd be coming," he says with a quick look up and down at the legend. I keep my distance, interested in watching their interaction. I want to know how they'll work as a team.

"Word is you can find the cube," the Cap says. They're both professional so far, though awkward on Dr. Banner's part, but maybe that's just him- I haven't observed him enough yet to tell.

"Is that the only word on me?" he asks while I attempt to look like I'm not listening in.

"The only word I care about," Captain Rogers replies. In this moment, I'm suddenly reminded of Arlie. She'd probably say the same thing to Dr. Banner. I wonder if she's on the hellicarrier- she'll get here as soon as she gets my message, and Clint had taught her a thing or two about quick travel, so it was perfectly feasible. She'd probably wait for take-off to start causing a fuss, though. And if I know Arlie, which I do, she is _definitely_ going to cause a fuss.

The Doctor and Soldier continue to chat before I intervene to warn them.

"Gentlemen, you might want to step inside in a minute. It's…going to get a little hard to breathe."

I can't wait for their reactions.

The Cap hears the start of take-off and asks "Is this a submarine?"

"Really?" Dr. Banner says dryly, "They want _me_ in a submerged, pressurized, metal container?" I watch them walk to the edge and observe as the turbines power up and the hellicarrier takes off.

"Oh, no," I hear Dr. Banner over the machinery. "This is much worse."

I lead the two into the main control room of the hellicarrier and immediately head for the monitors looking for Barton to see the progress.

Fury gives the order for what Clint likes to call the "invisibility shield," and Captain Rogers gives Fury a ten dollar bill. _Wonder what that's about._

I examine the room around me, observing different techs and Agents at work, and I wonder where Clint is. We're searching for him, I know. Or, rather, the Tesseract. And Loki. But where they are, Clint will be.

Phil had explained to me what had happened. Clint was more than compromised- he was mind controlled. Phil explained that he had sent Arlie away in an attempt to keep her safe and I told him I thought that was a stupid idea. She would be safest with us, where we can protect her. Phil said Loki would be coming after SHIELD, trying to use its resources to gain whatever it is he wants.

All the more reason for Arlie to be where we can keep an eye on her- besides, it's not like she's incapable. I've been training her almost since I joined SHIELD, and Clint and Phil were working with her before that. Arlie could probably take down most of the people in this room. At the same time.

"And where are you with that?" Dr. Banner's voice breaks into my thoughts. I turn to see Fury gesture to Phil who answers.

"We're sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet. Cell phones, laptops, if it's connected to a satellite," I crouch down to scroll through Clint's information as Phil continues to explain to Dr. Banner, "It's eyes and ears for us."

"It's still not going to find them in time," I insert, wanting this fixed _now_.

Dr. Banner agrees, "You have to narrow your field. How many spectrometers do you have access to?" he asks Fury.

He really should've expected the answer. "How many are there?"

"Call every lab you know. Tell them to put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm; basic cluster recognition. At least we can rule out a few places."

I didn't understand much of that, but I got the bit about narrowing how much we have to search.

"Do you have somewhere for me to work?" he asks softly.

Fury turns to me, "Agent Romanoff, could you show Dr. Banner to his laboratory, please?"

"You're gonna love it, Doc," I tell him as I lead him away, "We got all the toys."

It's only an hour or so later when I'm sent to Germany. Hovering over Loki in the jet, I'm struck again with how out of time Captain Rogers is:

"You know, last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."

Working in tandem with Captain America is not something I'd ever thought I'd do- my only partner has ever been Clint. And then ACDC begins playing on my sound system, prefaced only by: "Agent Romanoff, you miss me?"

The music makes me almost smile- Clint may have issues with Stark, but _god_, are they similar.

"He saying anything?" Fury asks me when we're flying back to base with Loki in tow.

"Not a word," I mutter. I don't like this- and the increasingly stormy weather is not helping. Clint was always the better pilot- I can fly, but usually I just have him do it.

"Where's this coming from?" I ask.

"What's the matter?" Cap asks Loki. "Scared of a little lightening?"

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," he replies. I think over that statement- remembering different myths and a story Clint told me about guarding a hammer in the middle of New Mexico…

_Shit._

An Asgardian god of thunder swoops in and takes Loki with barely a glance at Iron Man. Stark heads after the two, and Cap begins to gear up.

"I'd sit this one out, Cap," I say to him as I continue to copilot.

"I don't see how I can," he replies evenly, barely pausing.

"These guys come from legend, they're basically gods," I inform him.

"There's only one god, ma'am," _Yup- definitely from his own time_. "And I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."

* * *

**April 15th, 2012**

Several hours later finds me sitting in the main control room of the hellicarrier watching the Avengers strategize after Fury interviews Loki. The main control for the hellicarrier is a big room, but sitting at the table with Thor, Captain America, and a man who can turn into a giant green monster- it suddenly doesn't seem quite so large. Still, the Avengers are attempting to work together, and I'm not here to feel like I've got a lot of room to move in. I'm here to get Clint back. All this time on my hands is not a good thing, though, because it gives me too much time to think.

Thinking of what will happen to our family if Clint doesn't get back is a one-way ticket to despair.

Phil would never forgive himself. Phil Coulson, one of the strongest men I know, would fall apart at the loss of Clint Barton. Clint is so many things to Phil: his best friend, his brother, but he is mostly Phil's son- and no one ever really recovers from losing a child. He'll probably blame himself and while he'll still have Arlie, he won't ever be the same man again.

I have no illusions of what will happen to Arlie. She'll break. Arlie has lost a lot of things in her life, and losing her brother again will break her. She'll linger on in some way, but she will never be the girl who first met me. She won't face something as scary as Black Widow with no fear, she won't bounce and smile in the face of deadly danger, her eyes won't sparkle the same way as they do when her brother is with her.

If Clint is gone, our family will survive, but it will be torn and bruised and battered beyond recognition.

I need something desperately to distract me from my own thoughts- so I focus on what Dr. Banner is saying with all the intensity I can muster.

"So he's building another portal. That's what he needs Erik Selvig for," the Doctor says, pacing slightly.

"Selvig?" questions Thor (and my day just _can't_ get stranger- because I'm saying "Thor" like it's normal).

"He's an astrophysicist," explains Banner.

"He's a friend," corrects the Asgardian. I recall my debrief: Selvig is a close associate of Jane Foster, the woman who Thor was (in love) with when he last was on Earth. He is also someone Loki has taken.

"Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with one of ours," I tell the god of thunder, explaining to him the full extent of the situation.

"I wanna know why Loki let us take him," Captain Rogers interjects, "He's not leading an army from here."

"I don't think we should be focusing on Loki," Banner adds with a shake of his head, "That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could _smell_ crazy on him."

Thor jumps in "Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. And he is my brother."

"He killed eighty people in two days," I say to the god. Granted, Clint and I have probably done that ourselves.

"He's adopted," Thor says with a shrug.

I take it back- it got stranger.

"I think it's about the mechanics," Banner says, trying to get us back on point, "Iridium, what did they need the Iridium for?" Dr. Banner asks the room at large, or maybe himself- I can't really tell.

"It's a stabilizing agent," Stark says as he walks into the room with Phil, "I'm just saying, pick a weekend, I'll fly you to Portland," he says to Coulson, "Keep the love alive," _clearly_, I've missed something. Stark goes back to lecturing us all, "It means the portal won't collapse on itself, like it did at SHIELD," he turns to the god next, "No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing," then he's back to lecturing, "Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants," he goes to Fury's station and starts being his usual asinine self, "Uh, raise the mizzen-mast, ship the topsails. _That man is playing Galaga_! Thought we wouldn't notice. But we did," I don't even bother to look in the direction Stark points, instead watching as he covers one eye and begins to examine the control panel that Fury mans, "How does Fury even see these?" he asks the room at large.

"He turns," Hill answers, straight faced. Thank god she did, because I'm already up to twenty two ways I want to kill Stark.

"Well, that sounds exhausting," _And_ we're up to twenty four. "The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source of high energy density, something to kick start the cube."

"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" Hill asks with surprising reserves of patience. Did Barton give her tips or something? Or is this from _dealing_ with Barton?

Both are possible.

"Last night. The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one who did the reading?" Twenty seven ways to kill him.

Captain Rogers decides to take advantage of Stark's new knowledge, "Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?"

But it's Banner who answers, "He's got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier."

"Unless," Stark jumps in, "Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect."

"Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet," Banner adds.

I'm not sure I understood any of that.

I wish Clint were here- he'd either explain it or add to my list of thirty one ways I want to kill Stark. Or both.

"_Finally_," Stark says with delight, "someone who speaks English."

Captain Rogers says what's on everyone's mind: "Is that what just happened?"

Meanwhile, Stark and Banner are having a nerdy moment which, of course, includes Stark being obnoxious.

"It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner," he says while shaking the man's hand, "Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster."

Banner looks distinctly uncomfortable, but mutters, "Thanks."

Fury walks in once my list reaches thirty eight. "Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him."

Captain Rogers adds in his two cents, "Let's start with that stick of his. It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon."

I recall reading Captain America's files- the scepter Loki was carrying does bare a striking resemblance to reports of HYDRA weaponry. And if anyone were to know HYDRA weapons, it would be Captain America.

"I don't know about that," Fury says, "but it _is_ powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys." At the Wizard of Oz reference I almost flinch- and I think Phil does.

"Monkeys?" Thor questions, "I do not understand."

"I do!" shouts Captain Rogers with glee. Stark rolls his eyes and looks away, while Rogers, slightly uncomfortable but still happy with his knowledge, continues, "I understood that reference."

Stark turns to Banner, "Shall we play, doctor?"

"This way, sir," and with that the two scientists leave the room and I faintly hear the sound of Galaga start up.

When will Arlie get here? I need some normal, sensible people around now.

And someone to help me get my list of ways to kill Stark up to one hundred. I'm only on forty now.

Phil comes to stand beside my chair and I take it as a signal he wants to talk. Standing, we walk out into the hall where the remaining Avengers won't hear us.

"What do you think?" he says softly. I consider.

"They are not a cohesive team. Apply pressure and they will fall apart. I doubt they'll be able to get Clint back or save the world."

"They'll come together, they just need a little work."

"We don't have time for a "little work," we've got Loki to deal with. He wants to be on the Hellicarrier. What's his play?"

"Tasha- go find out. Interrogate him. Find out. If anyone is capable, it's you."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll be in charge of putting out the minor fires, and I'll see if I can't think of a way to make the Avengers a team," Phil sighs stormily, "Do you think…he knows about Arlie?"

I consider everything that's happened for a minute, "I do know that Clint shot Fury in his chest, not his head. Clint _knows_ Fury wears a vest. We all do. I think he's got enough let to fight Loki. And if there is one thing he'll keep safe-" I trail off, not bothering to finish.

"It'll be Arlie," Phil nods, "He'll try to guard us all, but when it comes down to it: he'll trust us to take care of ourselves, but Arlie he'll guard to the death."

"Not the death," I correct swiftly. Unwilling to think about Clint dying, I substitute a better option, "Till it's safe." I turn to look down the hall- we're still in our own private world here, but we won't have much longer, "I'll go push some of Loki's buttons, see what I get. I'll have a better idea of what he does and doesn't know by the end of it."

Phil nods, "OK- good luck, Tasha."

I nod and turn to go to the Hulk's emergency cage.

I've got a god to interrogate.

When I enter the room I see Loki with his back to me. Years of training has me approaching silently, but the god turns around with a smirk before I say a word, "There's not many people that can sneak up on me."

"But you figured I'd come," I reply. This is the most dangerous game I've ever played- I need to pick each word, each inflection, with precision but without hesitation. There has never been higher stakes.

Fortunately, I thrive in impossible environments- I survived the Black Widow Program, after all.

"After," Loki corrects me, "After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear. As a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate," he says it with a sneer, mocking a plan that, with someone a little less clever than Loki, someone with a little less ego, would work like a charm.

"I wanna know what you've done to Agent Barton," I tell him calmly, with no inflection. Let him think that's my plan- it may be my endgame, but I want something else from this conversation. Lie with the truth.

"I'd say I've expanded his mind," the god returns. I feel sick but hide it.

"And once you've won?" I question, stepping closer, "Once you're king of the mountain? What happens to his mind?"

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" he taunts. I almost laugh- no, I do not love Clint Barton. Love is a concept for children- it's fairy tales and happy endings and a kiss to break curses. What I feel for Clint Barton is so much more. It's built on blood and sweat, gunpowder and arrows, it's three a.m. phone calls because of nightmares, it's knowing he has my back even when he's miles away, it's risking everything he's gained to bring me a chance at redemption when he's just met me, it's trusting me with his sister, it's sneaking into my room at base and sharing the guest bed at Arlie's apartment while she smirks at us, it's making me a part of his family, it's learning Russian with terrible grammar and a terrific accent, it's showing me movies I "need to watch" and then talking through them, it's life and death and pain and happiness and so much _more_. So I lie with the truth.

"Love is for children.

"I owe him a debt."

"Tell me," Loki demands. I briefly toy with how to continue this to get my desired result. I need him emotional- not thinking- feeling superior probably- invincible. I love when my opponent feels invincible, it's when they make the most mistakes. He wants to feel superior? I'll let him.

"Before I worked for SHIELD, I uh…well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skill set. I didn't care who I used it for, or on. I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me; he made a different call." _He saved me from myself_.

"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?" the Asgardian asks mockingly.

"Not let you out," I reply.

He laughs, "Ah, no. But I like this," _Here we go- ego trip_. "Your world in the balance, and you bargin for one man?"

Time to bring this home, and then let Loki bury himself, "Regimes fall everyday," I say with a shrug, "I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian…or I was."

"And what are you now?"

_Natasha Romanoff- Nat to Clint when no one else is around, Tasha to my family._ "It's not really that complicated. I got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out."

The gleam in the god's eyes lets me know I'm going to need to be strong- he's feeling superior, and if he's got Clint's mind…he has a lot of ammunition to break me. But if it gets me what I need, if it helps me on the path to getting Clint back, I'll take it.

No other option.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that _much_ red? Dreykov's daughter? São Paulo?" each word he says is like a knife to the gut or a bullet piercing me. "The hospital fire?" This in particular cuts me- only Clint knows about that. Clint's mind has given the god everything he could want. _But hopefully not Arlie._ "Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's _gushing_ red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" he mocks, and every barb lands and stings. But the comment about Clint brings me back from the edge- Clint may have sins, but he is one of the greatest people I've ever seen. You just have to look at him with Arlie to know- _he is the best of men_.

Loki is standing before me in his cell, sneering, "This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer. _Pathetic_! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers.

"You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are part of you, and they will _never_ go away!" He's attacked some of my darkest fears. The ones that wake me up at night and cause me to turn to Clint and bury my head in his shoulder and feel so _vulnerable_ and _weak_ that I almost can't stand myself. The ones that Clint usually soothes away.

_He knows everything_.

_But he doesn't know Arlie_.

I'm certain the god is unaware of Clint's sister's existence- this conversation would have flowed differently; he would have mocked me with her death, her lack of safety, of perhaps taking her from me too. I have no certainty, but I've got a pretty good feeling. And for right now, it's all I need to hold onto because it means _Clint is fighting_.

I can fight too.

Loki slams against his cell and I flinch while he continues his tirade, but I've put on my armor and any emotion now is faked in order to accomplish my own ends. I can do this. "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him _kill_ you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And when he'll wake just long enough to see his good work," I turn away, chocking on vomit and fear, "and when he screams, I'll split his skull! _This_ is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

I let a tear start to fall and turn away. "You're a monster," I say softly, letting him think he's won. I'm still waiting for him to divulge more. He's already revealed that Clint can wake up from his control.

Loki laughs, "Oh, no, you brought the monster."

_And…there we go_.

"So, Banner," I say turning. If I were in a better place, I'd laugh at the look of shock on the god's face. Trickster God? Insignificant to the Black Widow when she wants something. That's right, ублюдок (mother fucker), I just played you. "That's your play."

"What?" Loki manages to get out in his shocked state.

I use my comm to inform Phil: "Loki plans to unleash the Hulk. Keep Banner in the lab, I'm on my way. Send Thor as well." Time to rub it in a little, "Thank you, for your cooperation."

I walk away- that outcome was enough to make me feel better until I can talk to Clint, then we'll discuss São Paulo and the hospital fire and every other dark part of my past until I can manage it again. And Arlie will supply me with plenty of ice cream.

It _does_ make things better.


	44. Pretty Killer Anyways

**Here comes Arlie!**

**And...that's all I'm gonna say about that.**

**Please read, review, PM me, request interludes, and enjoy!**

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Steve)**

The hellicarrier is definitely something to be intimidated by.

"You'd love it, it's candy land."

Tony Stark however, is not.

I wonder if Kansas has been on the Hellicarrier- she's not SHIELD. I'll have to ask Agent Romanoff what she meant by Kansas being here soon. The sound of Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark's conversation echos down to me as I continue in my thoughts.

"Thanks, but the last time I was in New York I kind of broke...Harlem."

"Well, I promise a stress free environment. No tension. No surprises."

I'm concerned when I hear Dr. Banner shout "OW!"

I dash into the room to find Tony Stark looking at Banner closely, clearly having just done something.

"Nothing?" he questions. _Dear god, he's trying to kill us all. This is Howard's son?_

"Hey!" I interrupt Stark, "Are you nuts?"

However, he brushes me off with a "Jury's out," then continues to talk to Dr. Banner, "You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?

"Is everything a joke to you?" I'm fed up with Stark's narcissism. He's stepped over the line now.

"Funny things are."

I swear, I see red. "Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny," I realize this might upset Dr. Banner, so I turn to him, "No offense, Doc." I really don't mean it as an affront to the man- I just don't think we should push his buttons. I also think the good Doctor would agree with me.

He decides to play peacemaker, "No, it's alright. I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things."

Stark, however, decides to continue to press the issue, "You're tiptoeing, big man. You need to strut."

"And you need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark."

"You think I'm not?" he asks, annoyed, "Why did Fury call us and why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables."

I absorb enough of Stark's fast paced speech to catch one thing- "You think Fury's hiding something?"

Tony Stark seems aggravated by my question, "He's a spy. Captain, he's _the_ spy. His secrets have secrets," he points to Dr. Banner, "It's bugging him too, isn't it?"

Rather than take Stark's word for it (not something that's going to happen anytime soon), I look to the Doctor for his own opinion.

"Uh...I just wanna finish my work here and..."

I want a straight answer, so I press, "Doctor?"

He pauses.

"A warm light for all mankind," he quotes, "Loki's jab at Fury about the cube."

I'm not sure where he's going with this, but I'm willing to follow, "I heard it."

Banner points at Stark, "Well, I think that was meant for you. Even if Barton didn't tell Loki about the Tower, it was still all over the news."

"The Stark Tower?" I ask, still not quite following their logic, "That big ugly-" I notice the Tower's creator giving me a look "...building in New York?"

Banner nods and explains "It's powered by an Arc Reactor, self-sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?"

Stark takes this opportunity to brag, "It's just the prototype. I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now. That's what he's getting at."

The Doctor turns back to me and continues "So, why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project? I mean, what are they doing in the energy business in the first place?"

"I should probably look into that once my decryption programmer finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files."

I stumble over that last comment of Stark's.

"I'm sorry, did you say...?"

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours we'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide," he holds out a bag of what looks to be blueberries to me, "Blueberry?"

He's hacking into SHIELD as soon as he comes on board? "Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.

Trust Stark to give me one anyways, "An intelligence organization that _fears_ intelligence? Historically, not awesome."

I don't like this- dissension in the ranks causes problems which lets the opponent pick them apart. I would know. "I think Loki's trying to wind us up. This is a man who means to start a war, and if don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them."

Stark shrugs, "Following is not really my style."

I've moved passed annoyed and am now at exasperated, I smile at Stark without any real happiness behind it, "And you're all about style, aren't you?" I ask.

"Of the people in this room, which one is; A. wearing a spangly outfit, and B. not of use?"

"Well, I don't know about _spangly_," comes a voice from the doorway, "But I'd say my outfit's pretty killer anyways."

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Bruce)**

There is a girl standing in the doorway across from the three of us. She's small- maybe five foot, with short brown hair and a pretty face. What really stands out are her eyes- they're a pale grey-blue that are striking with her lightly tanned skin and brown hair. Tony looks her up and down quickly, but Steve seems to actually recognize her.

"Kansas," he practically breathes out her name (strange one, anyways), and he gives her a small smile.

"You know," she continues, "None of you are Fury. This is the first time my tried and true method of Fury-tracking has failed me."

"You have a method to track Director Fury?" Captain Rogers asks, looking confused.

She nods, "Mm-hm. I usually just follow the sounds of annoyance and aggravation and find him in the thick of it," she looks at each of us in turn, then spots Tony. "Ah- Mister Stark. Throwing off my Fury-tracking since 2008. I've heard a _lot_ about you."

"All good things?"

"Not a single one. And, ah- Dr. Banner, I presume," she says to me with a small smirk. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yes-uh- hello." I stutter a bit, not quite sure what to make of this girl as I shake her hand.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks, she turns to look at him, and I just now notice that despite the smirk on her face throughout this conversation, she's _angry_. Her jaw is tight, her smile doesn't reach her eyes, and the air around her practically crackles from the energy of it.

"I'm looking for Fury. Didn't I say so? Sorry- been a bit scatter-brained lately."

"Kansas- what's wrong?" he asks, stepping towards her. There's a soft woof and we all look behind her to see a large dog that was sitting just outside the door. He's got no leash, but the Captain lights up when he sees the animal.

"Owl, hey buddy," he says, kneeling down before both girl and dog. The black monster of a dog looks up at the girl for permission and whines a bit, tail wagging wildly.

"сейф, Owl," (safe) the girl says, with a jerk of her head towards the super soldier. The dog- Owl, I guess- bounds over to Rogers and practically tackles the man to the ground. After a few moments greeting the hound, the man turns back to the one he calls Kansas.

"Seriously- Kansas- what's going on?"

"I just need to see Fury."

"Kansas-" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Where. Is. Fury?"

The dog, I notice, is back by her side and still once more. He remains practically glued to her even when she walks away after Captain Roger's "Main control room, last I saw."

Tony turns to me after the super soldier follows her out.

"Did you feel like they forgot about you? I think they were having a moment. They're a thing- trust me. I know it. She walked into the room and we might as well have been furniture," he pauses for a moment, thinking, "I've _got_ to find out who this chick is."

He dashes after them and, rolling my eyes, I follow.

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Phil)**

I'm standing beside Thor Odinson and looking at some of our file on Jane Foster as I explain to him.

"As soon as Loki took the doctor we moved Jane Foster. We've got an excellent observatory in Tromso. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday. Handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She'll be safe," I assure him. I know how much of a relief it is- I'm glad Arlie is safe as Loki rampages.

"Thank you," the god of thunder tells me, "It's no accident Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Erik is a good man."

I nod. _They always are. _I had spoken to the scientist several times when I had visited Clint on various occasions. "He talks about you a lot. You changed his life. You changed everything around here."

Thor sighs, clearly uncertain about that last bit, "They were better as they were. We pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced, but we...we come here battling like bilge snipe."

_Huh?_ "Like what?" I ask.

"Blige snipe? You know; huge, scaly, big antlers. You don't have those?"

Talk about cultural differences, "Don't think so."

"Well, they are repulsive," the demi-god informs me "and they trample everything in their path." He walks over to the window, and continues his thought "When I first came to earth, Loki's rage followed me here and your people paid the price. And now again. In my youth, I courted war."

He sounds tired, and I wish there was something I could do for the man. Selvig being taken over by Loki had hit him hard. I knew what it was like to have someone under Loki's control. Before I could even begin to try and formulate a response, the Director walks in and begins speaking.

"War hasn't started yet. You think you can make Loki tell us what the Tesseract is?"

"I do not know," in this moment, I believe the god to be every bit as old as legend says, rather than what he appears to be, "Loki's mind is far afield, it's not just power he craves, it's vengeance, upon me. There's no pain that would prise his need from him."

"A lot of guys think that, until the pain stops," the Director is almost nonchalant about it.

"What are you asking me to do?" Thor questions, clearly torn. I try, for a moment, to imagine what growing up with Loki as your brother must have been like. I can't see it.

"I'm asking: what are you _prepared_ to do?" Fury returns.

"Loki is a prisoner," the demi god protests.

"Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat that wants to be here?"

Thor has no answer for this, but even if he did- he wouldn't have had time to say it, because at that moment the doors fly open and Arlie waltzes in with Owl guarding her, followed closely by Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, and Dr. Banner.

"Director Fury," she says, her voice cooler than frost, "we need to have a little chat."

Before anyone can even react, she's standing in front of Fury and then her fist flies out- connecting with the side of Fury's jaw with a _CRACK!_

Agents are pulling their guns but Fury signals them to stand down. Arlie doesn't even flinch as the Director pulls himself back up to his full height to talk to her.

"Kansas," he says with a nod. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where is he?" she asks, no preamble.

"Kansas-" Fury begins with a sigh.

"Where the hell is he?" she demands.

"I'm not going to give you that information," he replies with the same volume as Arlie- which is steadily increasing.

"Why the _hell_ not? I have every damn right to know! And, while we're on the subject- you do _not_ have the right to send me on some wild _damn_ goose chase!" Fury jumps in.

"Does Phil?" he says. Arlie turns to look at me, and I'm suddenly reminded of giving oral presentations in school- waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. Her eyes are betrayed and hurt. I take a step towards her but her hand shoots out, as if to block me from coming any nearer.

I have majorly screwed up.

"Don't," she says to me softly, "Just…don't." I look to my shoes for something to say, some way to fix this, and when I next raise my eyes Arlie's refocused on Fury, her volume down to normal again, "Regardless, I do not work for you, and you do _not_ own me- get it through that thick skull of yours. Now just tell me-"

"According to _SHIELD's_ _records_, you do not have _any_ right to be informed-" But Fury is cut off when Arlie strides away from him to stand before everyone at Fury's own post. _Oh shit_.

"Hello, everyone, my name is Arlie Clara Barton, and, in case you couldn't tell, I'm Agent Barton's younger sister." She turns back to the Director and her voice has frozen over it's so cold. "Let's try this again.

"Where. Is. My brother?"

Fury smirks slightly, just enough to let me know he had _wanted_ Arlie to reveal herself. _What the hell is he planning? Oh, forget that- Clint's going to kill me._


	45. Interlude: Phil's Gifts Part 3

**OK- so we're getting pretty far along here. And guys- it's cracking me up because in the poll over whether or not you want Barney to reappear, it's a unanimous vote for yes. **

**I need to figure out what to do with that now- but it'll be after Avengers.**

**So here's part 3 of the Phil-Captain America gift saga. Which makes me sad because...no more Cap gifts for Phil. Anyways, I totally ran out of ideas by time I reached the tenth card and so...yeah.**

**Anyways, I'll give you a proper chapter later today, but I'll be busy because I also have work. So, read, review, request more interludes, and enjoy!**

* * *

**The Seventh Card- Christmas 2009 (Arlie)**

"We should probably make up for all the teasing with the pajamas this Christmas," I tell my brother and he nods.

"We need another card," he declares, and tries to open up my program. I take my computer away before he breaks it. My brother is incredibly smart about a lot of things, but technology is not one of them.

"Let me look, there's one in Czech Republic, there's one in England,"

"You want to go on a weekend trip to England?" my brother asks before I even finish listing.

I think about it, "I've never been to England."

"Whenever I'm there I'm working."

"Can we really just go off to England?"

"Sure- we can invite Phil and Tasha along and sneak away one night to get Phil his card."

"Phil won't go- he's been busy trying to get that Avengers Initiative approved."

"Tasha'll go- she's been getting bored."

"How can you tell?" I ask, then continue without waiting for an answer- only my brother can read Tasha properly, it's something I attribute to them practically being soul mates. Which is strange to think of since they do _not_ act like it.

Well, unless you're really looking.

"I hope this isn't a card he already has," Tasha says dryly a few days later as we search through England for a Mr. Waverly who had inherited a Captain America card (among other things) when his Aunt died seven years ago, according to my records.

"Me too," I say at the same time Clint replies "It won't be."

Mr. Waverly is a bit reluctant to part with his card, but Tasha starts talking to him and within fifteen minutes he is willing to practically give it to us. I make Clint pay him anyways, but we walk away with a massive new appreciation for Tasha's manipulation skills.

And a Captain America Number Seven Card.

* * *

**The Fifth Card- July 4, 2010**

Clint was in Rome on a job, and I had always wanted to go there, so I just happened to schedule my vacation to Italy the same time Clint was in the city of Seven Hills.

What a coincidence.

We're window shopping, chatting about Tasha perhaps finishing her mission early and joining us when Clint sees his target talking to what looked like a dealer. He makes me promise to stay out of the way and goes after the guy, but the dealer starts running away- in the direction of me.

I might have tripped him.

And I might have knocked him unconscious.

I look around and realize my brother is nowhere to be seen- so I grab the dealer and, using some tricks Tasha taught me, got us out of the way without anyone noticing. I probably looked like a girl helping her drunk boyfriend back home. That was the plan, at least.

The dealer comes to about an hour later, and finds that I've tied up his hands and feet and he won't be going _anywhere_. Phil taught me how to tie knots- the only way out of those things is a knife.

Clint is suddenly beside me, looking panicked and then he notices the dealer.

"Kansas?" he says, warning in his tone. I shrug.

"I didn't know if you needed him or not. Besides- what was he doing?"

"It was just a deal, nothing important- some drugs," the man begins chattering nervously. Clint and I look at each other, confused. What could be so bad that he'd pretend to be dealing drugs rather than his true purpose?

My brother goes over and begins patting the guy down, finding listings of black market shops and dealers, with flash drives containing- no doubt- more information, but it's not for drugs.

"You deal black market…collectibles?"

"There's probably a lot more money in that than in drugs, if you play your cards right," I tell Clint. The dealer, strangely, nods at my statement.

"She's right. Drugs are risky- everyone looks for drugs- and too many of your clientele ends up dead sooner rather than later," he is _actually_ explaining this to us, "Collectors are as obsessive as druggies and are willing to pay top dollar just to _see_ something, let alone actually buy it! Better business to be in- and safer for those who keep their noses clean, too. And it's practically disease-free."

"Well, I'm convinced," I joke to my brother. He just rolls his eyes and keeps going through the guy's stuff.

"We're going to have to hand him over to White Collar," he says, "But…hold on." Clint pulls out something that looks almost like an old-fashioned cigarette case- but it's the wrong size. He opens it up and _damn_.

"Is that a Captain America Number Five Card?" I say, looking over my brother's shoulder.

I examine the picture in the dim light of the alley way we're hiding in. The Cap is in tattered clothes, his shield not his usual round one, but the original shield that was shaped almost like the family crests you see for royalty. He's got a dull blue-silver helmet on, and is looking off to the side.

"Shit," Clint breathes out.

"Listen," the dealer says, "You let me off with a warning, and that card is yours."

My brother and I exchange a look. I know he already wasn't really planning on handing the dealer over to anyone, since the guy had seen me and Clint working together, and my over-protective bird brain of a brother doesn't want anyone to ever connect us. The guy was mostly harmless, from all appearances and we didn't really know anyone in the White Collar division of Italy anyways.

"Done," my brother says, cutting the guy loose and letting him go.

"Phil's going to love that- it comes with its own case!" I say. "His birthday _is_ coming up."

"This is good, but no more taking out people, ok?"

"Fine, bird brain," I say sighing, "But I just hope you realize how hypocritical you're sounding."

* * *

**The Socks- Christmas 2010**

"We've got one day till Christmas." I tell my brother.

"Yup."

"We've got something for Tasha, something for each other, but nothing for Phil."

My brother just hums.

"Wait- you did remember to get me a present, right?"

"Yes, munchkin," he says while rolling his eyes and smiling at me, "I remembered to get you a present."

"Ooooh. What'd I get?" I say, bouncing a little on the couch, "Wait- no- distracted. What are we going to get Phil?"

"I haven't got a clue."

"We could order more custom PJs," I suggest, "I'm pretty sure he burned the last pair just to avoid anyone finding them and teasing him."

"No- Phil would never burn Captain America pajamas out of shame," Clint sighs. "What else do they sell that would be customized like that? I mean: mugs, tee shirts, pajamas,"

"I still say we should get him Captain America cuff-links."

"Phil doesn't use cuff-links."

"You're missing the point."

"Actually, I think _you_ are, munchkin."

"So what are _you_ thinking then, bird brain- since you've got the point obviously?"

My brother looks around the room and sighs. The returns to his examination of my apartment- this time, though, I think he's looking for food.

I sigh. My brother and his stomach. There'll be nothing getting done until he has a snack in his hand.

"I'll get you some food if you get your feet off my coffee table," I bargain. He grins and places his feet on the floor. Suddenly, he jumps up.

"That's it!"

"What? A Captain America coffee table? I don't think they make those."

"Go online- find some Captain America socks!"

I think for a moment, two.

"I can do that."

* * *

**The Tenth Card- July 4th, 2011**

"Ok- we need something extra cool in honor of this year," I tell my brother as we begin our semi-annual hunt for Captain America memorabilia.

"Why?" he ask, looking over at me, "Is it an anniversary? Silver or something?"

"No, bird brain- because they found him!"

"Oh- right. Well, what do you have?"

"Do you speak Slovak?"

"I can learn."

"You want to get a Number Ten card?"

"I'll go pack."

"No- _I'll_ pack, you go learn Slovak."

It's really strange watching my brother learn a language- because he doesn't usually bother learning to read or write in it, he just learns the spoken language. He'll start off watching movies with subtitles, then tv shows without them, then he goes to the country and just sits around outside and listens to people. He's got an ear for things that's almost unnatural.

We're sitting in a local restaurant trying some different dishes which I can't pronounce but Clint can order with the local dialect when I pull out my packet of information.

"Ok- here's the shtick. We've got a Number Ten Captain America Card owned by this woman here, Zlata Sykora."

"What's her deal?" Clint asks through a mouthful of food.

"Ew- chew and swallow before you talk," I sigh, "Anyways- she's been buying a lot of Captain America memorabilia online in past years- but never any cards besides this one. Originally, the card was owned by her father, Roger Sykora. About five years ago, he died, she inherited the card, and she stopped buying Cap stuff. She's sold off some of it bit by bit."

"What are you saying?"

"Clint- how much Cap gear have we bought?'

"A lot."

"Have we kept any of it?"

"No- we give it to- oh. I see- you think she was buying Cap gear for her father?"

"I do. The trick is going to be convincing her to part with his card."

"We could always steal it."

"That might actually be easier, but let's not- Phil wouldn't like it."

He sighs, "Well, we can't upset Phil this close to his birthday."

"Nope."

"And I don't think I should teach my baby sister how to steal."

"Not a baby."

"Baby to me."

"You're only two years older, bird brain."

The waitress comes up and begins speaking to my brother and I sit back while he settles the bill and then we walk out to find Sykora.

This could be tricky.

Zlata Sykora _really_ does not want to sell her card. And she doesn't speak English so she and Clint are conversing in Slovak while I sit by uselessly. She talks about how it was her father's and while she's willing to get rid of some of the smaller things she had bought for him herself over the years, she doesn't want to give up his one card.

Clint's talking and talking and I'm pretty sure he's going to actually get blue in the face soon when I nudge him.

"Tell her it's for our father."

"Huh?"

"Tell her, it's for our father- tell her about Phil. Describe Phil to her."

"What will that do."

"Just- trust me, bird brain."

And so Clint turns back and begins to talk. I watch as his voice becomes happier, his hand gestures become broader, and Zlata Sykora starts smiling at us and nodding.

"Tell her," I order my brother, "That things like that card should be kept alive- shouldn't be left in some album somewhere to be looked at in memory of just one person- fathers like ours are amazing and rare, and fathers that love Cap- well, they're their own special brand of fatherhood. Tell her we love our dad- tell her we want to give him this not because he's a Captain America fan, but because he's our father. Tell her- what would her father think Captain America would do?"

My brother translates even as I speak, and our voices overlap as we work to bring one more Cap card home to Phil.

Sykora nods and smiles.

We've got the card.


	46. Let the World Burn

**Ahhhhh- so I love this chapter. We're beginning to see Arlie isn't just a sweet little sister and we're going to notice her priorities aren't necessarily in order...well, to her they are. Also, some POV from Tony. :D**

**I just really love this chapter. So: read, review, request interludes, ect. Enjoy!**

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Tony)**

Whoever Capsicle's date is, I like her. She just _slugged_ Fury like it was nothing and then started demanding the location of "he." Who "he" is, I've got no clue, and I don't think Spangles does either, judging from the look on his face. The girl's dog (and, seriously- who travels with a dog?) is beside her, lightly growling at any who come too close to his tiny owner.

I like her.

"Hello, everyone, my name is Arlie Clara Barton, and, in case you couldn't tell, I'm Agent Barton's younger sister," she suddenly announces before turning back to Fury and continuing their head-to-head battle.

_Oh_. _So that's who "he" is. Arlie Barton…but Cap called her "Kansas."_

_Shit- he didn't know._

I turn to examine the super soldier's face- he looks like he just got punched in the gut and I don't know who this girl is to him or what she means, but _damn_, I actually feel bad for the super soldier.

Fury gave a small smile, "Miss Barton, why don't we talk?"

She seems to realize Fury's pleased with her admission of her identity and pales momentarily before rallying.

"Where is my brother?" she repeats.

"We're not sure," Fury replies.

"What the hell do you mean you're not sure?"

"He's been taken over by a man called Loki," Fury begins to explain but the girl waves her hand stopping him.

"What do you mean, "taken over?" I was told he was compromised. And how the hell did this happen? He said he was on a routine mission- just guarding a blue cube, he told me."

"He told you?" Fury's eyebrows raised.

"_Yes_, he told me. Now what the hell happened and who is this Loki dude?"

Fury seems to consider for a moment before asking, "Miss Barton, how would you like to work with SHIELD on this?"

One eyebrow raises quickly, "This conversation sounds unhappily familiar," she drawls.

"Miss Barton- working with SHIELD could help,"

She practically jumps on the Director, "No. No. Way. In. Hell. I am not working with SHIELD!" Her voice calms, lowers, and becomes more threatening, "I think," she says, stepping slightly closer to him, "You've got me confused with someone else, here.

"I am not my brother, director. I am not searching for redemption. I am not looking to save my soul. I don't care about saving the world. I want one thing here, and one thing only.

"I want my brother back. If I have to let the world burn to get him, I will.

"If you understand me, look very very scared," she turned to see Hill, "Bit more than that," she turned back to Fury, who has paled several shades, "_There_ we go."

I look around the room and notice the various reactions- Fury seems to finally understand just how far this girl will go and seems a bit out of his depth, Agent Coulson looks like he's ashamed, or maybe heartbroken, and I just now notice that Captain America is leaving the room.

_Well, things certainly aren't boring here_.

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Steve)**

"My name is Arlie Clara Barton," and my world comes crashing down once again. The foundations I had thought were solid turned out to not be so stable, and I realize that this person who I had confided everything in, is someone I know nothing about. She has been lying to me- she is not Kansas, she is Arlie. And her brother is a SHIELD agent? The one person I associate with outside of the Agency and it turns out her brother is a part of it.

How long has she been playing me? Manipulating me? Pretended to be a friend and planting seeds for some other purpose?

I need something else. I need something else to think of. I need something to distract me from the way I feel like my chest is collapsing in on itself.

I had been thinking I might feel for this girl, but I don't even know her name.

I recall the conversation I was having with Dr. Banner and Stark before Kansas- Arlie- appeared.

Let's go see what Fury's hiding.

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Arlie)**

I stare down Fury who seems to finally get that I don't have a priority list- I just have Clint.

"Here's how this is gonna work," I tell him, "I'm not going to work for you, I'm not a volunteer, either. I work on my own, and if I happen to share information with you, you'll return the favor. You _don't_ give me orders."

"You'll save your brother above anyone and everything else?" he asks, a little in shock.

"Without hesitation. So you better hope there's another solution, because that's the best we're going to get."

He is silent for a few seconds and I attempt to get my emotions under control. I've been all over the place since I got Tasha's message that she was on her way to Calcutta and that "Clint's been compromised, we're going after him. I don't know anything else yet, but be careful." Sneaking onto the Hellicarrier with Owl (I'm not leaving him behind when I'm in the heart of SHIELD) was probably the most difficult thing I've ever done. I don't do well with people- that's Tasha's thing. Ask me to hack a computer and I'll take seconds, ask me to sneak past some guards and I'm hopelessly lost.

But I got here.

"What do you need, Miss Barton?" Fury asks.

"Computers."

He nods towards a row of computers- one of many that fills the main control room and I stride towards one.

"Out of my way, please," I say briskly to the man whose seat I'm taking. He moves aside.

"So what do we know about what's happened to my brother?" I ask, waiting for anyone in the room to respond.

"It's kind of difficult to explain," begins a woman by Fury- Maria Hill, I assume. Phil's talked about her- he thinks she's an excellent Agent, one of the best. Tasha likes her as well and Clint gives her grudging respect.

"Well, then, I'm going to assume there was video surveillance that was sent back here, so let's take a look. Picture's worth a thousand words and all," I begin typing on the computer, pulling up various files and breaking into ones that won't let me in.

I find the video I want and select it.

"You know," I say, "This screen's a bit small, let's blow this up a bit," with a few keystrokes, I've got the video playing on the large screen and in the individual screens before each chair at the main desk.

What I watch next makes me want to hurl. I look over to Phil, still feeling angry and betrayed, but I want confirmation that he's still here. Next I turn to Tasha, who gives me a nod.

That's all I need to get going.

"Well- what do we know about the spear?" I say.

"Dr. Banner and I have been poking at it," says Mr. Stark, stepping forward, "It's being a bit stubborn, but we've got some stuff running and tests we're waiting on. Now I want to know what you did to Spangles to make him look like you've broken his heart."

I ignore Stark's last comment (though it does cause a pang) and turn back to the screen, which is paused on the image of Loki's spear tip touching my brother's heart.

"What else?"

"It's not Asgardian," says a man by Phil. He's massive, wearing a black-blue sort of armor thing and I look over at him and remember Clint telling me a story of a man and a hammer. This must be Thor. Interesting.

"Well, I don't know about you people, but I seem to recall seeing that sort of energy somewhere before. Ah- that's right," I begin to type again, pulling up another file that is connected to Steve's, "HYDRA. Weapons made by HYDRA were described consistently as having a strange blue glow that was like a force. Now, let's see- how's your history?" I ask the room at large. Without waiting for an answer, I continue, "Because HYDRA was originally part of the Nazi science division, and at the conclusion of the war, the notes and results of the Nazi doctors and scientists were taken by the Allies, I'm guessing HYDRA's were, too. There was a big stink- _huge_ ethical debate over whether or not the notes should be used. A lot of it was just nasty- reports and statistics on inhumane experiments, how long people could wait after drowning to be resuscitated- there was this one doctor that liked to experiment on twins. I think he had a collection of eyeballs, too- anyways, it was mostly things like that. It was eventually decided," the eyes of everyone in the room are on me and while I'm not normally fond of being the center of attention, today I'm rolling with it. More than that- I'm thriving off of it. It's giving me an energy I rarely have as my fingers fly across the computer screens, "That since the notes were in existence already they might as well be used. It's a sort of irony- using the notes of Nazi scientists and doctors to help people. Ah- here we go- the notes of one Armin Zola- a biochemist who worked directly under Johann Schmidt AKA "The Red Skull." Who speaks German?" I turn around, looking at the people in the room.

Fury looks impassive, as does Agent Hill. Phil gives me a look of pride but I can't bring myself to look closer as my eyes continue to scan the room's occupants. Thor looks downright confused, Dr. Banner looks impressed and intrigued, and Mr. Stark looks annoyed.

Doesn't like having to share the spotlight, I guess.

Tasha gives me one of her tiniest smirks (all she'll do somewhere this public) and strides over to me.

"I speak enough," she says, scanning the notes for me.

"It says he was helping to experiment with," she pauses, "he says the Tesseract. And they were using it to build the weapons."

"So," I say, programming a translation system into the computer and then clicking it through, "Ah- much better, now we all can read it," I interject as it translates the notes for me. "If the Tesseract is made of the same energy as the spear that was used to take over Clint's mind, then I think it's pretty safe to assume that whatever stops the energy flowing over Clint's brain will return him to us. Yes?" I receive a nod from Dr. Banner, who is drifting towards the screen, utterly fascinated with what I've pulled up.

"That's a lot of assumption," Stark inserts as he also examines the files I've brought up.

"Do you have time to experiment with this?" I ask him, "Because I don't think we do."

He pouts a little and then turns to me.

"So, you're the zombie's sister." I stiffen at calling Clint a "zombie," but before I can say anything Tasha's already standing between me and Stark.

"Just a tip, Mr. Stark," she says in her super-scary calm voice, "I wouldn't call Agent Barton that in front of the girl who is willing to sacrifice everyone in this room if it will increase her chances of getting him back. She might not take it well."

Stark raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, but continues to question me.

"So you're Agent's sister, but you don't work for SHIELD. Interesting. Now, Miss America," I look at Stark, confused by the nickname, and he shrugs at me, "It needs work, but I'm going with it- more flow to it than "Spangly's Date" which reminds me- why "Kansas?" As code names go it's sort of," he waffles a bit looking for a word, "Bland."

"My brother picked it," I tell him.

He nods and then looks over my shoulder at what I'm doing on the computer.

"This is impressive, you hack SHIELD often?"

"Only every other week- just to check up on things," Fury seems to almost groan and the woman I'm assuming is Agent Hill looks concerned.

"What are you doing?" Stark questions again, leaning over as I use my talent to pull up more information on my brother's mission. "Oh- that's- well, that's brilliant," he says, before taking over the computer next to me.

"What about this though?"

And with that suddenly he's taken over the sound system in the Hellicarrier and its playing "Back in Black."

"Nice," I say with a smirk, "But I prefer this," and I switch it over to Heart's "If Looks Could Kill."

"Oh- chick rock," Stark says, "Should've known you'd go for it, Tiny."

"Well, I am a chick."

"So what are you pulling up now, little Miss Mitnick?" he goes back to watching my computer over my shoulder.

"Woah- is that medical files?"

"It's my brother's- I think I'm allowed to look. Now- I don't know much…or anything, about medicine, but I do know that the brain has electricity."

"It's in the entire body," Stark jumps in, "The neurons fire and all. It's mostly concentrated in the brain, though."

"So we need to reboot my brother's brain."

"Shut it down and then start it back up- cause a surge maybe, or a blackout."

"Would knocking him out help?" we both look at each other, and then in unison turn to Dr. Banner.

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Bruce)**

I suddenly know how the rest of the room felt when Tony and I discussed astrophysics. He's practically bouncing talking to this girl about hacking. Then they turn to me.

"I'm not a medical doctor," I stutter, "But, from what I understand, knocking someone out wouldn't shut down the brain's electricity- just parts of it. I don't know though."

"Well, let's go find out- time to play!" Stark says, "You like these computers?" he adds to the girl, "You should see the ones we have in the lab. And then I brought some of my own. What do you use?"

"I build my own computers- much better that way. I hate using what they've got on the market now- they're all so slow and have such limitations."

Tony actually stops and looks at Miss Barton with a gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, I knew I liked you."

She smirked, "I knew I'd hate to like you."

_What just happened here?_

Tony smirks, "Most people do, now- to the lab."

And they leave the room. I follow behind them, listening to them discussing various computer parts, or something technical.

Well, now I know how other people feel when I talk about radiation.

"Dr. Banner," the girl- Arlie, her name was- turns to me, "I don't understand the first thing about radiation, so be warned- but how are you progressing with the spear…thing?"

Tony and I bring her into the lab and I start discussing what I _do_ know.

About an hour later we're still working- Tony and I are scanning and fiddling with everything we can think of on the scepter while Arlie types madly away on a computer Tony had loaned her, actually admitting she'd be able to do more with it then he would.

"But, I'm a genius with several things, rather than just computers, so I think we're even," he had added. Arlie had just smirked. Her eyes had lit up, though, when she started working on the computer.

"So you and the Capsicle?" trust Tony to break the silence.

"What about me and Steve?"

"Love is in the air, Adrian Lamo, and it seems to be choking us."

I sigh, but know there is no way to stop Tony from this- best to let Arlie learn to handle him herself. The way we've been getting on, we'll probably end up spending a lot of time together.

Arlie actually smirked at the nickname and then said to Stark, "It's, of course, none of your business, but that won't stop you, so here's what you want to know: when Steve was brought out of the ice, Phil suggested I help him adjust. We've known each other for almost a year now, and in that time I have never seen or given any romantic signs from or to Steve. He was one of my best friends," she trailed off, softening, "But I think I kind of screwed up."

"Well, you know," Tony says as he continues to work, "When you find out the girl you're in love with is Arlie not Kansas, it's a bit of a fumble. But, he's an idiot anyways- probably wouldn't want to date him, either, too old-fashioned and straight-laced- you'd never have any fun."

Tony's comments are enough to bring Arlie back to the present and she chuckles, "Steve's plenty of fun. Isn't he, Owl?" she turns to her dog, who I'm barely noticing at this point. Owl has been completely silent and almost just an extension of Arlie up until now. You'd never know he was there until you stepped too close to his owner. But at the question, Owl barks and wags his tail, giving the dog equivalent of a grin to his owner.

"So- what's with the pooch?" Tony asks, and I'll admit to being curious too.

"My family gave him to me- and then they trained him to guard me. Clint's paranoid when it comes to my safety, so Owl's for when he can't be around himself."

"What kind of dog is he?" I ask.

"He's a happy dog," she jokes "But, really- he's a mutt. We think he's part Irish Wolfhound and part English Mastiff. Not 100% sure, since he is a rescue. But he's big enough- he'd go crazy in my apartment if Steve or Clint weren't running him all the time."

"Wait- Stars and Stripes dog sits for you?" Tony asks, rolling his eyes, "Super soldier serum and he uses it to help you take care of your dog? _That's_ the guy my dad never shut up about? Wondering if they shouldn't have kept him on ice," he's joking, but also slightly serious.

"You don't like Steve?" Arlie asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"We had a bit of a disagreement," I tell her, "Earlier about what Fury's up to."

"He wanted me to _follow_." Tony says, with heavy disgust on the last word.

"Ah," Arlie says, almost smiling, "So that's what I interrupted."

"The guy's not wrong about Loki," I say for the benefit of the absent Captain, "He does have the jump on us."

"What he's _got_ is an ACME dynamite kit," Tony corrects, "It's gonna blow up in his face, and I'm gonna be there when it does."

"Yeah," I say, remembering that Tony isn't just another brilliant brain- he's also Iron Man. "And I'll read all about it."

"Mm-hm," Tony adds, "Or you'll be suiting up with the rest of us."

I recall my version of "suiting up"- transforming into an unrestrained monster of anger, and I correct him, "Ah, see. I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare."

Arlie, surprisingly, cuts in, "Suits of armor don't make you any less exposed. In fact, I'd argue that if you look at all of your suits, they show the innermost parts of you."

"I'm iron on the inside?" Tony asks.

She shakes her head, "A genius with iron walls around him in an attempt to keep his heart safe. Metaphorically in this instance."

"Girl's got a point," he nods, a little uncomfortable with how easily she saw through him. I'm a little uneasy as well- she just met us this evening, has talked about nothing but science, computers, and Captain America, and she just parsed Tony Stark down into his most basic element and identified it. Tony turns back to me, "I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart." He taps on his Arc Reactor, "This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a... terrible privilege."

I look at him, trying to make them both understand. There is no privilege with the other guy.

"But you can control it."

"Because I learned how."

There's no controlling the Hulk, "It's different." I attempt to go back to work, but Tony pulls the windows down and stares at me through the screen.

"Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you."

I look at him- is he seriously suggesting what I think he is?

"So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life? That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?"

Tony is silent for a moment, then responses, "I guess we'll find out."

I flashback to Harlem and all that had occurred there- "You may not like that."

"And you just might."

We both return to work but Arlie inserts one more thing, "I feel bad for the Hulk."

Both Tony and I turn and stare at her. She shrugs, "He's always angry, always fearful of someone hurting him," she sighs, her eyes clearly showing that her mind is no longer in the room with us, but lost in some memory or another, "I know what that feels like, and I wouldn't want to go back."

Well, how do you respond to that?

Tony passes her some blueberries, she looks up at him and takes some. "Thanks."

She smiles, though, when Tony tosses a few at Owl and the dog catches them in the air.

* * *

**OK- bonus points if you caught that Doctor Who reference. Also, the nicknames Tony tries out on Arlie (aside from Miss America and Tiny, obviously) are names of famous real-life hackers. Seriously- look them up. :)**


	47. Fresh Out

**So I cannot even begin to describe how proud I am of this chapter. If Reliant itself isn't my baby, this chapter is. So I'm part super-nervous to be posting it for all to see and part super-excited to show it to you all. Conflicting emotions! **

**But, seriously- this chapter, guys...I don't even know what to say.**

**Please: read, review, request interludes, and, above all, enjoy!**

* * *

**April 16th, 2012 (Arlie)**

I actually like working with Tony Stark. I feel a bit bad for it, almost like I'm betraying Tasha and Clint (neither of whom really like the billionaire), but he's brilliant and lets me play with his computer equipment.

However, I do notice that he and Bruce seem to be working on something else besides the spear. I want to yell at them that Clint will only be freed if we figure out the scepter, but I restrain myself- I'm sure they have their reasons, and their priorities are not mine, so I should respect that.

At one point, I leave to talk to Tasha and get some food (besides Tony's blueberries and other snacks- where did he _get_ those anyways?).

"You ok?" I ask her.

"Are you?" she returns.

"Good point."

"Captain Rogers seemed upset," she says, looking at me carefully. My eyes fall to the floor.

"Yeah, I think I might have screwed up."

Tasha nods.

"I talked to Loki," she suddenly says. I look up at her, surprised. That's when I notice the skin around her eyes is tight and the set of her jaw is grim.

_Oh, god- what did he say to her?_

"Tasha?" I ask, wondering if she'll share with me. Normally she does, but some of the darker stuff, the stuff that really gets at her, is reserved just for Clint.

"He knows things," she told me, trying to maintain her expressionless mask, "He's been through Clint's mind, but I don't think he knows about you. Clint's fighting."

I suck in a breath at this information, trying not to appear like it rocked my world. "Well," I say, and my voice sounds slightly breathless but I continue anyways- because it's just me and Tasha, so if my mask or hers isn't perfect, we'll pretend to not notice, "Of course he's fighting- he's a stubborn ass."

Tasha smirks, "You're right. You good here? I've got to go do some things."

"Yeah, I'm fine- get cracking."

Five minutes later Phil comes and sits beside me. I don't turn my head- I'm fairly certain if I look at Phil right now, I'll cry. He is silent for a few minutes before he begins to speak.

"I realize that what I did wasn't fair to you. It probably made you feel like I think you can't take care of yourself, like you can't be trusted with something as basic as your own safety. Considering your past," he sighed, "That must have stung quite a bit."

I say nothing, but my jaw tightens- those tears are building up and I don't want to release them.

Phil continues. "I _do_ know that you are more than capable, Arlie. I know it mentally, but emotionally…" he sighs, "I'm not excusing it, but I'm not going to apologize for trying to keep you as safe as I can. I'll say sorry for how it made you feel, but not for doing it. Because," he turns and looks at me- I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, "just because you are capable, doesn't mean you have to do it on your own. And I'm afraid that, when it comes to you or Clint, I tend not to think very rationally. I wish," he sighs again and his hand comes up to rub at his face. "I wish a lot of things. I wish I had the opportunity to have raised you two myself- from the beginning. I wish that I could take away all the dark spots in your pasts and just…keep you safe and happy and always aware that you are loved. I wish I could promise you that you'll never be alone. But this world is not interested in granting my wishes, so we'll have to make due with what we've got.

"Arlie," he says and I finally turn to look at him. I notice that the tears I've been fighting are falling now, and I'm not sure when that started- but I think it was around when Phil admitted he wished he could've raised me and Clint from the beginning. I imagine a life where Phil was more than just my practical dad- but my real one. One who didn't find me when I was in my twenties, but always had me. God, that sounds amazing. "You are one of the most capable people I know. We'll get your brother back."

"I'm sorry," I whisper to him, knowing I had made him feel awful these past few hours, refusing to acknowledge him and letting him know I didn't want him near me while I went head-to-head with Fury. It must've been killing him.

"I know, and it's alright," he tells me. The next thing I know, I'm curled up with Phil hugging me tight- his chin is balanced on the crown of my head and my tears are probably ruining his suit.

"I think I screwed up, Phil," I tell him.

"You didn't trust Captain Rogers enough to tell him of your past," he says, knowing immediately what I'm talking about, "But, if I know you, you never actually lied to him."

"No- just avoided some things."

Phil sighs, "Well, it's still, in some respects, lying, but Arlie- if he can't appreciate that you need more than most people to start trusting, then he's not worth keeping around."

I sniffle "But he's Captain America," I can't believe Phil's telling me this about his hero. The man he'd feature in stories about his grandfather and sometimes his father. Phil loves Captain America- and he's telling me to kick him to the curb if he can't understand my trust issues.

Phil grimaces, "I know, but he's also made you cry, so- he'll have to have a talk with me if this keeps up," he gives me a smile and squeezes me tighter- letting me know he's there, "We'll fix it, Arlie. I promise. You want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we have conviction."

After washing my face in an attempt to hide the fact I had just cried all over Phil in a horrendousnessly emotional display I haven't _actually _done since Clint found me, I return to the lab to find Bruce and Tony sitting side by side, arms crossed and faces stormy.

_Uh oh_.

Whatever they're up to, I don't ask, sitting down by the computer and continuing to work- I'm hacking into various video surveillance and using a program for facial recognition in an attempt to have the computer alert me whenever my brother appears in front of a camera. I'm using ATMs, convenience store cameras, and even some police surveillance. It's going, but no signs of Clint yet.

Then Fury storms in, "What are you doing, Mr. Stark?" he asks, and I look up to watch- because clearly whatever went down in the lab while I was gone to make Bruce and Tony so upset was about to come to a head now.

"Uh...kind of been wondering the same thing about you," Tony says, his face expressionless.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract," Fury says, clearly miffed. Normally, I'd appreciate the fact that Tony managed to piss him off, but something's happening here and I feel like I missed something.

"We are," Bruce says in a calm voice, "The model's locked and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile." Fury seems slightly mollified by this.

"Yeah, then you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss," Tony adds before suddenly pulling up some files on his monitor. "What's Phase 2?" He asks. I'm about to interject when Steve comes in, looking furious. He drops a huge weapon on the table with a bang and speaks at Fury.

"Phase 2 is SHIELD using the cube to make weapons," he turns to Tony, "Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow for me."

Fury immediately trys to recover, "Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're-"

Tony cuts him off. I still haven't manage to get a word in edgewise, "I'm sorry, Nick. What were you lying?" He pulls up SHIELD's plans for building the weapons.

"I was wrong, director," Steve says with a level of hate I haven't heard from his voice before, "The world hasn't changed a bit."

Tasha and Thor come in, and Bruce immediately goes toe to toe with the assassin.

"Did you know about this?" he asks.

We all did, but Tasha is concerned about something else right now, "You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?"

"I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed," he states, still angry. _Shit_.

"Loki's manipulating you," Tasha says, trying to get the Doctor to calm.

"And you've been doing what exactly?" In hindsight- the manipulation comment may not have been the way to go, Tasha.

Tasha's getting angry now, though I doubt many besides me can tell it. "You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy. I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

I finally manage to insert myself into the conversation.

"I can tell you why," suddenly, everyone's focus shifts to me. They are all staring at me, with the exception of Steve, who seems to be struggling to look at me. It's a slight kick in the gut to notice, but I move on.

"Let me tell you all a story," I say, folding me legs underneath me so I sit on the chair Pretzel-style. "Once upon a time, there were some ants. They lived in their little ant farm in a sandbox. And they had their problems, sure, but all in all, the ants had a pretty good thing going. So one day, they were minding their own business, and a toddler comes to play in the sandbox. After the initial reaction of "holy shit, that thing's huge!" they calmed down because the toddler was just there playing with his toy truck and not bothering them any. They worked around each other and everything was fine. But the ants were still a little freaked because, again- holy shit that thing's huge.

"Then, the toddler's baby brother comes over. He wants to play with the toddler's truck. The toddler doesn't let him, because he knows if the baby gets a hold of the truck, he'll break it. This causes the baby to throw a tantrum. Soon we've got the two brothers wrestling in the sand for who gets the truck. Seriously- go to any playground, you'll see it all the time.

"But while they're fighting, they don't notice what they're doing to the ants. They're _crushing_ them- _destroying_ their home, and the ants have _no way_ of stopping it." The room is silent as everyone stares at me. "Guess who is who in this analogy." I turn to Thor and everyone in the room turns with me to look at the blonde demi-god.

"What?" he asks.

"You made us feel tiny. You made us feel powerless. You and your brother had a little sibling spat and it leveled a town. You made us feel like _ants_ in a _sandbox_.

"What do you do to keep yourself safe from that?" I ask. No one responds. "I mean, my brother spent a solid _month_ after you visited last time having panic attacks because he didn't know how to protect me anymore. How do you _guard_ yourself from an act of a god? Buglers- you get good locks on your door. Muggers- well, there's safety in number so walk with friends or a dog or something. Hell, assassins- you can do things there, too. There is nothing on this earth that there isn't _something_ you can do to help increase your chances with. But you made us tiny and scared and suddenly we realize we don't have any way to protect ourselves from things out of this world.

"It's so easy for all of you to get up in arms," I say now to the all the Avengers, "You can fight Loki. You can take a few punches from him and walk away. Thor- you've probably had a thousand wrestling matches or whatever the hell you do up in Asgard growing up. You know him. You're probably stronger than him. Steve's got the super soldier serum and while he certainly realizes the value of his strength, I think he's forgetting just _how much_ weaker the rest of us are," I look at Bruce, "I'm guessing you couldn't die even if you wanted to. The Hulk would stop you. Keep you safe. And you," I look over at Tony, "You've got a freaking suit of iron armor. You _all_ can protect yourselves from Loki!

"I, for one, can't. What am I supposed to do when a Norse god falls from the sky and starts making war? Trust _you_ to save me?" I turn to Iron Man, "With all your issues?" I look at Steve, "You can't be everywhere at once," I look over at Bruce, "And, sorry, but: Harlem," I shrug, and he looks down, and then I turn to Thor, "And you- you're willing to stand between us and your brother, but, at the end of the day, he's always going to be your brother. He's the boy you grew up with, and I'm guessing when you look at him now you don't recognize him, but you're _dying_ to find that boy again. How far are you willing to go to stop him from killing more? Because he's killed over eighty people since he came here. Those people were someone else's brother, or sister, or father, or mother. And your brother took mine from me.

"What would you do if someone took your brother from you?" Thor looks uncomfortable.

"I don't blame you," I continue in a softer voice, letting the thunder god know I won't ask it of him, "I don't think I could even _begin_ to handle this as well as you are if I were in your shoes. But, the thing is, I've had a lot of people throughout my life who were supposed to protect me, take care of me, make sure nothing bad happened to me. And they failed. So if I can't trust a group of adults to make sure one little orphan girl is ok- why the hell should I trust any of you with my _world_?"

"You knew about this," Steve says, looking up at me. His voice is quiet, but hard as his eyes finally land on me and stay.

"Yes, I did. I found it months ago when I was hacking SHIELD. And you know what? I wasn't surprised. Furthermore, if you think _every other_ agency in the world isn't doing the same exact thing with more or less success, you're all idiots. And I'm never going to get my brother back at this rate."

* * *

**April 15th, 2012 (Phil)**

I'm going to check on Arlie when I hear shouting from Dr. Banner's lab.

_This is not good._

I walk in to see Arlie lecturing the room, telling them how _of course_ SHIELD was making weapons with the Tesseract, calling them all idiots.

"Why should we listen to the girl who would let the world burn for one man?" Captain Rogers asks, throwing Arlie's words back in her face.

"Don't you _dare_ judge me for that!" Arlie practically snarls- I've never seen her so furious, and it's almost as frightening as watching Loki take over Clint's mind.

"Why shouldn't we?" sneers the Captain, walking away from her.

"Because Phil will never forgive himself!" she shouts abruptly. The room goes silent, looking over at her. Arlie's almost in tears, and if she wasn't still a little sore about me being so over-protective, I'd be by her side and going toe to toe with Captain America for making my practical daughter cry, personal hero or not. I still might pull him aside later and threaten him where Arlie can't hear.

Captain Rogers is looking at Arlie now- no longer walking away. His face is slightly confused and more than a little conflicted. Arlie tosses her hair over her shoulders and faces him squarely from her seat.

"When my brother dies, my _world_ falls apart.

"You want hear my future, Captain? Because I can tell it to you. I know with absolute certainty what will happen to me- how many people can say that?" the laugh she gives is the bitterest thing I've ever heard. It sends chills up my spine to hear it coming from Arlie, the girl who was always able to bounce and smile in the face of the terrifying and sympathize with the horrible. Suddenly, her eyes are on me, though she continues to talk to the Captain. "Phil will never forgive himself. When my brother dies- it doesn't matter if it's today by Loki's hand, or five years from now in a failed mission- Phil will _never_ forgive himself. Because that's what parents do; they blame themselves for every cut, scrape, and bruise. And Phil's the best dad in the world," her voice cracks at the admission, and my heart feels like someone is squeezing it tight, "So the day my brother dies, Phil will never be the same. He won't recover from losing Clint, and _he'll never be the same_. He will never be the same Phil Coulson who took in my brother, who took in me, who backed Clint's play when he brought Tasha in. And it will break both our hearts." I feel the truth in her words, and am shamed by it. She turns to look at the Captain again, her voice carrying in the silent room; strong despite how at times she is choked by tears she won't let fall. "And that's not even the beginning.

"Assuming Natasha isn't killed before Clint," she turns to look at the red head, "_Assuming_ Tasha doesn't go down fighting side-by-side with my brother, _assuming_ she doesn't die taking out the guys who killed him, she will die soon. Because without Clint to watch her back, without knowing Clint's out there waiting for her to come back home safe, she will get reckless. She's going to push it farther and farther to wipe out the debts she owes, because she'll be trying to pay off Clint's too. She's going to fight for redemption for both of them and it'll get her killed. I doubt she'll last two years after my brother's gone," Arlie's gaze turns back to Steve Rogers, who is looking horrified. We all are. The room is in a hushed silence of dread, mourning Arlie's future for her. "Someday I will be standing in a graveyard, alone. And I won't have grey hair," the tears Arlie's been fighting finally begin to escape, and one splashes down her cheek while several cling to her eyelashes. I want to go to her- make her tears stop, but we are all frozen in place while Arlie holds us under a spell of dread. "Have you ever feared your own life expectancy? Not because something's shortening it, but because it's too _long_ compared to everyone you care about's? Have any of you ever felt completely powerless against a future that you dread? Because I am _useless_- there is literally _nothing_ I can do to extend my family's future. Not even a harebrained scheme that has a snowball's chance in hell. I don't get to try _anything_ to fix this.

"I will never get to know what my brother looks like with grey hair. I will never know if he's going to need glasses someday. I won't get to know if he'll even wear them if he does, or if he'll be too stubborn to put them on. I don't get to know if my brother will be able to fire a bow when he's sixty because _he won't get to live that long_.

"Without my brother, my _world_ falls apart.

"Now I dare any of you- to judge me for wanting my brother back more than anything. I _dare_ you."

The room is silent, and none of us can meet Arlie's eyes. We are all so focused on our own pain, on the sacrifices we make to save the world, we don't even realize who the true victim of all this is: the one left behind. I wonder how many other people are in Arlie's situation, and feel so small for never even bothering to find out. Does Hill have family? I can't remember if I read it in her file.

"That's what I thought," Arlie's voice is a whisper, but it carries in the still room. "Normally, I'd have the utmost sympathy for all of you," she says to the Avengers, then looks over at Stark, "Because I know what it's like to have your world turned on its head in a second," she turns to Captain Rogers, "Because I know what it's like to feel totally alone in a crowded world," she turns to Banner, "Because I know what it's like to fear something that's a part of you," and finally she looks at Thor, "And I know what it's like to love a brother who does bad things sometimes," the tears are streaming down her face now, but she holds herself straight and tall while maintaining eye contact with the Asgardian, so intensely that I don't think the god could look away if he wanted to, "But your brother _took_ mine from me. So I am fresh out of sympathy. And I'm fresh out of forgiveness."

And that's all it takes to finally crush my heart- because Arlie can forgive anyone. Or she used to.

We've broken her.


	48. Interlude: Practical Dad

**So we've got a teeny tiny piece of family fluff here. Shamelessly, because we all know what's coming and I don't want to let go of Phil yet! He's just so wonderful and fatherly and I don't want Arlie to cry any more!**

**But, it is necessary to the plot (stupid plot), and I refuse to tell you whether or not I'll have him come back. After all, death gives us size. But I adore Phil.**

**And to the reviewer Sam, who I couldn't reply to via PM: don't worry, I didn't mean Arlie had lost anything that she can't get back. But Arlie's been fixing broken people for most of this story (Clint, Tasha, Steve) and now it's time for someone to fix her. Everyone needs to fall apart once in a while.**

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**June 3rd, 2011 (Phil)**

"So no more Janine, the cellist from Oregon?" Arlie asks me after I explained I had no dates for this month to schedule dinner around.

"No- she moved back to Portland. She made the case that I was busy and she wanted more time, but she didn't think it was fair to call me away from my work and other duties, so she didn't see it working out."

Arlie just sits next to me on the couch as we watch our third movie for the evening. Clint and Tasha are on a mission and we're waiting for them to get home, refusing to fall asleep (though I had tried to send Arlie to bed several times over the past three hours) until they were back with us, "I'm sorry," she says, looking glum as her shoulder leans up against mine. Owl is curled up on the other end of the sofa and the cool evening that had descended on us after the rain storm moved through the city is off-set by their body heat.

I give her a small smile, "Well, she was right. I don't have much time to give her, I guess."

"Well, be fair- take a look at your resume."

I look at her, my eyebrows coming together, wondering what my work experience has to do with this.

"I mean," she begins to explain, "You're an Agent, and you're really just a step or two below Fury himself. That's a lot of work. Not to mention how in your free time you swoop in and save people," she adds with a grin. "And you're practically a single father."

"I was with you until that last bit- you mean with you and Clint? You two don't need much parenting anymore. I kind of missed those stages."

She rolls her eyes and rests her head on my shoulder, "You're almost as big an idiot as bird brain," she teases, "Phil, you may have gotten here a bit late in the game, but don't think that that makes you any less our dad. You lecture us, you guide us, you've got the fatherly advice thing down, you glare at any dates we may get, are over protective, you even pace when we don't get home on time, and you teach us everything you know. For all practical purposes, you're our father." I look down at this girl who is fighting sleep as she leans on my shoulder, wrapped up in one of the blankets her brother had brought her back from Peru as her eyes lose focus on the TV. She suddenly giggles a little, "You're our practical dad." She yawns widely without covering her mouth at the end of that statement, but it's perfect.

"Well, that makes you my practical daughter," I say, hoping that the other two members of our family will be home soon so the stubborn girl will go to sleep.

She wakes up enough to _beam_ at me.

Before either of us says anything more or the Goonies even get to finding the treasure map, Clint and Tasha half-stumble through the door. The two of us are up like a shot (and Owl is barking for a few seconds then virtually tackling Tasha to the ground in his enthusiasm) and soon we're all greeting each other in a mess of talking and nothing can be heard properly and I'm pretty sure Arlie and Clint are already bickering.

My practical daughter, with my practical son and the girl he loves who has become a practical part of our practical family.

Within five minutes they've all fallen asleep and I'm turning off the TV, folding the blankets, and making sure the food has all been put away where Owl won't get to it. Then I head off to sleep myself- my kids are home and all is right with the world. Sure, Clint might have a sprained wrist (he was complaining about how it would affect his shooting his bow) and Tasha might have broken a toe (she was irritably ranting about how a toe should not hurt that much), but they're all under the same roof and safe now. I can sleep tonight.


	49. Where it Hurts

**Firstly, I'd like to say that the response I got from you guys for last chapter (not the interlude- the chapter-aka my baby) was just...amazing. I'm speechless. All I can say is thank you. I have never felt so proud of my own writing as I did for that chapter.**

**Secondly, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- but it's time. I'm going to have to make you sad again. It won't be a happy chapter here. You have been warned.**

**Thirdly, I'd like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and/or PMed me about this story because you guys are awesome and have been wonderful- seriously, I haven't had one negative person. You've all been constructive and helpful and supportive. Big round of applause for you people.**

**Finally: read, review, PM me, and enjoy!**

* * *

**April 16th, 2012 (Arlie)**

Fury jumps in after the room absorbs my tirade. I slump back against my seat and look over at Phil as Fury talks. I nod at him once, assuring him I'm OK, or, rather, will be; he looks over at Tasha and Owl, reminding me I'm not alone and that they'll be there if I need anything; I give Phil a small smile as he leaves the room to finish his duties.

"The world's filling up with people who can't be matched," Fury lectures, "That can't be controlled."

"Like you controlled the cube?" Steve asks in a swift sentence, letting Fury know exactly what he thinks of his "control."

"Your work," Thor chimes in, "with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it _and_ his allies." The demi god advances on Fury. "It is a signal to all the realms that Earth is ready for a _higher form of war_."

"A higher form?" asks Steve.

"You forced our hand," Fury says calmly, trying to placate the room. "We had to come up with something-"

"A nuclear deterrent," Tony sneers, "Cuz that always calms everything right down."

"Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?" the Director says coolly. Tasha and I exchange a glance- that is _not_ going to help. I stand and move next to Tasha and we shift so we're slightly back to back. Owl stands before us- we're readying for a fight.

"I'm sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck-deep," Steve adds, but Tony jumps in.

"Wait- hold on- how is this now about me?" he questions, taking a few steps closer to the super soldier.

"I'm sorry-isn't everything?" he shoots back.

"I thought humans were more _evolved_ than this," Thor adds. _Great- now we've got a new form of racism. What is this? Specie-ism?_

"Excuse me," Fury fires back, "Did we come to _your_ planet and blow stuff up?" Tasha turns to the demigod and Fury while I keep an eye on Tony and Bruce. Banner is clearly getting upset, and I'm worried about a Hulk-appearance.

Soon, everyone is talking over everyone else and Natasha even jumps in.

"Are you all really that naive? SHIELD monitors potential threats!"

"Captain America is on threat watch?" Bruce questions.

"We _all_ are."

"You're on that list?" Tony adds in, turning to Steve, "Are you above or below angry bees?"

"Stark, so help me god, you make one more crack," the rest of Steve's sentence is lost on me as I hear a high-pitched whirling. I turn and see the spear. I grab Tasha's arm, but it's too late- she's moved to stand beside Fury.

"Guys-" but they ignore me to continue their argument.

"You speak of control," Thor's voice is almost laughing, "Yet you court chaos!"

"His M.O., isn't it?" Bruce's voice is chill, suppressing emotion, "I mean what are we? A team? No no no. We're a chemical mixture that _makes_ chaos. We're- we're a time bomb."

"_You_," Fury says, stepping closer to the Doctor. "Need to step away."

"Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?" Tony immediately defends Bruce, and slaps his hand onto Steve's shoulder. I have enough time to think that 1- some steam release might actually help Bruce and 2- that hand is not going to go over well before Steve jumps in.

"You know damn well why," Steve shouts shoving Tony's hand off his shoulder. "Back off!"

"Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me," Tony says, stepping up to Steve with cold assurance.

"Guys-" I insert again.

"Stay out of this, Kansas- Arlie- whoever the _hell_ you are," Steve adds, putting a hand up between him and me. I feel infinitely worse for doing the same to Phil earlier now that it's happened to me. He turns back to Tony, "Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?" He's leaning into Tony's face now, and I see a flash in the billionaire's eyes that let me know Steve's struck a nerve before Tony's in Steve's face too.

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," he rattles off. In the corner of my eye, I notice Tasha shrug with a facial expression that says "Well, _yeah_."

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play. To lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you." I can practically see the memories of Bucky playing out behind Steve's eyes and I realize that there is no way to resolve this now. We're on track for a head-on-collision.

"I think I'd just cut the wire," Tony says, and I realize that everyone else has stopped their bickering long enough to focus solely on Iron Man and the super soldier.

"Always a way out," Steve says with a smirk and derision. "You know, you may not be a threat, but you better _stop_ pretending to be a hero."

"A hero?" he says "Like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers," Tony accuses, and I know he's hitting Steve where it hurts- he's always wondered why Erksine would pick him to be Captain America, even though the man himself had tried to explain it to him. It would probably always be a doubt, hanging in the back of his head. "Everything special about you came out of a _bottle_."

Steve nods, his jaw tightening, "Put on the suit. Let's go a few rounds," he offers.

"Guys," I try to interrupt again, but Thor laughs over me.

"You people are so _petty_," he's grinning and I begin to wonder if the thunder god has gone a bit insane. "And tiny," he sounds almost confused by that last one.

"Yeah," Bruce says, also getting angry, "This is a team."

"Agent Romanoff," Fury jumps in, "would you escort Dr. Banner back to his-"

But Bruce jumps in, "Where?! You rented my room."

Fury shakes his head, "The cell was _just_ in-"

"In case you needed to kill me, but you _can't_. I know, I tried."

I suck in a breath. Looking at Bruce, my heart cracking a bit for the man. The entire room refocuses on him and he seems to realize he revealed something he hadn't intended to.

"I got low," he explains uncomfortably, "I didn't see any _end_, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy _spit it out_. So I moved on. I focused on _helping_ other people. I was good," he turns to Tasha, "Until you _dragged_ me back into this freak show, and put everyone here at risk," he's on a roll, barely pausing between words, "You want to know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?"

Both Tasha and Fury place their hands on their guns, I notice Owl inching closer to me, growling quietly in the back of his throat, looking around the room at each person, ready to jump at the throat of whoever comes near me. I lace my fingers through his collar, trying to calm myself from the tension building in the suddenly too-small room.

"Dr. Banner," Steve's voice cuts in, "Put down the scepter." I suddenly realize that Bruce had grabbed onto Loki's spear while he was talking. Judging by the look he gives it, he probably only just realized, too.

The tense atmosphere is slightly alleviated by the computer beeping. I dash over to it, Owl and Bruce following.

"Got it," Fury says, sounding relieved in his Fury-way.

"Sorry, kids," Bruce mutters, "You don't get to see my party trick after all."

"You've located the Tesseract?" questions Thor.

"I can get their faster!" Tony jumps in.

"Look, all of us," Steve begins, but Thor cuts him off.

"The Tessearct belongs on Asgard, no human is match for it!" _And we're back to this again?_

Tony goes to leave the room, but Steve follows him with a shout, "You're not going alone!"

"You gonna stop me?" the genius cockily asks.

"Put on the suit, let's find out," Steve returns.

"Didn't we _just_ stop arguing?" I ask the room at large as Dr. Banner and I continue to fiddle with the computer monitors, locating the Tesseract.

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man," Tony says to Steve, as they both ignore me.

Steve's voice is harder and colder than the ice they found him in when he replies, "Put on the suit."

"Oh my god," Bruce and I say at the same time as we look at the Tesseract's location.

A huge explosion rocks the ship and I'm thrown against a wall. Owl crashes into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

"Put on the suit," I hear Steve repeat in a significantly different tone from last time.

"Kansas?" he shouts next, and I sit up with a groan.

"I'm fine- go!"

"Hill!" I hear Fury call, and in the mess I hear him call for Tony and then Tasha.

_Where is Tasha and Phil?_ I wonder with panic.

Owl whimpers and we both get up. I check over my dog and once I'm sure he's fine, we dash out of the hot room that was formerly Bruce's lab.

I want to find Phil and Tasha.

I hear a sound echoing up through the vents- it's a scream, but it's deeper and louder and more bestial than anything I've ever heard.

_The Hulk_, my mind connects and I continue to run down the halls. I walk past Agents both injured and fine and then I hear Phil's voice.

"Arlie!" he shouts and I run up to him in relief- he's fine and he's got something in his hand.

"Here," he tells me, "It's a comm, put it in- I think Tasha's with the Hulk, and Stark and Rogers are trying to fix the engines. Fury and Hill are in the main control room- don't go there, it's overrun. Get to one of the planes and evacuate. And, here," he pulls out his gun.

"Phil- you're going to need this," I say in a panic.

"I'll grab my extra, you take this, trust me. You help- I've got to go to work," He gives me a quick smile and a kiss on the forehead before dashing off. "Keep Owl with you!" he shouts over his shoulder.

I look down at my dog and pop the comm into my ear as I head down the hall.

"Hello?" I ask and I hear Tony's voice crackling over to me.

"Thank god, Segvec Gonzalez!"

"_Really_?" I ask, amazed, "You're trying to come up with nicknames _now_?"

"Call it a coping mechanism," he returns. "Help Spangles!"

"What's going on?" I shout, ducking behind a bit of debris as someone fires at me.

"I'm looking at the control panel by the failed engine!" Steve says.

"He doesn't get tech!" Tony jumps in.

"Be fair," I scold, "He was good with tech when he was in the army- he's just got to catch up. Last couple years, tech has been growing exponentially rather than steadily and it's a lot to learn." I remember what Tasha taught me about guns and quickly look over the debris to shoot in the direction the bullets are coming from. I hear a thud so I advance a little farther, Owl glued to my side.

"Just _help_ him!" Tony shouts, exasperated, "_I'm_ busy!"

"Arlight- Steve, describe it to me. Colors, anything that looks twisted or broken- it should be noticeable. Does everything look cohesive? Are there any dents?"

He's silent for a few seconds, "No. Nothing I see is broken." Someone comes from around the corner and sees me- they go to punch me but I duck under it to hit them in the gut, long hours training taking over so it's instinctual. Owl snarls and bites down on the attacker's arm and they scream.

"Good," I reply to Steve as I roundhouse kick Owl's victim's skull, "Now are the lights that are in a row of plug-like things pulsing?" Owl drops the guy's arm, and we move farther down the hall. I notice my dog has blood on his teeth.

"Fast. More than once a second," he responds.

"Are they all flashing at the same time or do they have their own thing?"

"They're not flashing together- is that bad?"

Another three attackers come at Owl and I, but Owl goes for one's throat while I shot the second and kick the third in the gut. While he's bent down I slam the butt of the gun against his head. "No- flashing together is kind of like an alarm. Sounds like you're good, Stark," I tell the genius on the other end of the comm.

"What's our next move?" Steve asks, I turn back to look at the person I had shot- apparently a bullet to the knee isn't enough to keep him down. I really need to work on my aim.

"Even if I clear the rotors, this thing won't reengage without a jump," Tony tells us, "I'm going to have to get in there and push."

"But if that thing gets up to speed, you'll get shredded," Steve shouts as I duck under my opponent's punch. He kicks me in the gut next and Owl goes for his leg, but he knocks my dog to the side.

"That stator control unit can reverse the polarity long enough to disengage maglev and that could-" The guy takes another swing at me, but I grab his arm and twirl myself into his body so I'm close enough to elbow him in his kidney.

"Speak English!" Steve shouts. My opponent shoves me away and tries to get a kick at my spine, but I somersault farther down the hall, away from him.

"God," Tony sighs, "Have your girlfriend translate!" he shouts. I pull out of the somersault, pivot far enough to shot the guy in the stomach and watch him fall before going to check Owl. The guy collapses on the ground, just holding the bullet wound on his stomach. I try not to think about what I might have just done.

I roll my eyes and explain to Steve, "There should be a red lever that when you pull provides extra friction to the rotors so it will slow down their speed temporarily just enough that Tony can fly out before they reach full Iron Man- shredding capabilities." Owl's physically fine, but the blood on his teeth has gone a stronger shade of red- or maybe there's just more. And tatters of clothes and skin seem stuck between his teeth. I feel bile rise up in my throat but I throw my arms around my dog and bury my face in his scruff. We're going to be OK.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Iron Man comments over the comms. "Stand by the lever and wait for my word."

"Great," I tell the boys "I'll talk to you later- bit busy."

An Agent comes over the PA system, "We've got a perimeter breach! Hostiles are in SHIELD gear. Call-outs at every junction."

"The Hulk and Thor are on Research Level Four, Levels Two and Three are dark."

I continue moving, trying to follow Phil's advice and get off, but the hellicarrier is a maze and with all the destruction nothing is recognizable to me.

Another attacker comes from my left and Owl goes for their gun arm before they have a chance to shoot.

I lash out with Phil's gun and clock him across the head. I may have terrible aim with bullets- but I can always fight the way I was trained. Just as Owl and I are ready to keep pressing forward, the floor tilts and I slam into the wall, Owl's nails clicking on the floor as my dog struggles to keep his balance.

Never mind- we are so _not_ going to be OK.

"Engine one is now in shut down. We are in uncontrolled descent," the PA system says.

_Well, no shit_.

"Sir, we've lost all power in engine one," someone I don't know says over the Comm.

"It's Barton," I hear Fury respond and my heart thuds. Clint's here. "He's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?"

"This is Agent Romanoff," I hear Tasha next. Her voice sounds shaky and I can tell she's terrified. I have never known Tasha to be terrified, and with that I feel a leaden weight drop into my stomach even as she continues "I copy."

"Stark, we're losing altitude!" Fury says next.

"Yeah, I noticed," Tony replies.

"Well, I sure hadn't," I said sarcastically, "Is that why the floor is suddenly _tilted?!_ I had _no idea_!"

Phil gets annoyed because Clint and I get heavily sarcastic when stressed- but, _damn_, do I feel better. I mean- no situation is too bad if you manage to be facetious.

Another person comes at me and I toss them over my shoulder when they over extend themselves with the punch. Owl's on them as soon as they hit the ground and they don't get back up.

I feel slightly nauseated that my sweet, adorable dog can do something like that, "остановить, Owl. Come on, boy- we've got to keep moving." (stop)

I turn the corner and see Phil, slumped against the wall and bleeding from his chest. It's the biggest injury I've ever seen in my life and it's on Phil's body and immediately I'm terrified. The cool mask I've been struggling with since I found out about my brother is ripped away completely and permanently and all I can do is kneel beside Phil and try to fight the tears.

"Phil- oh my god, Phil- listen, it's gonna be ok. I'll find something to fix you- I'll fix it, I promise. Oh god, Phil."

"It's alright, Arlie-"

I cut him off with a scream rivaling a Banshee's, "NO! It's NOT alright! You're bleeding and Clint's _gone_ and Tasha's _terrified_ and Norse legends are coming to life and we are so _far_ from alright we're going to have to redefine what "_we're screwed_" means!"

"Arlie," he puts a hand to my cheek and forces me to look at his face rather than the gaping, bleeding hole in his chest. I faintly hear Tony and Steve over the comm, but I can't really focus on anything beyond Phil at this moment. "Listen to me, it _will_ be alright. And I will tell you right now why. Yes, I'm bleeding, but you're safe, and Clint may be gone, but Natasha will get him back _because_ she's scared and that means she's more dangerous than she's ever been. Yes, Norse legends are real, and that means we've got Thor fighting with us.

"I just shot Loki out through the wall and told him we'll win. Do you want to know why?"

I've stopped trying to hold back the tears now and manage to hiccup out "Conviction."

"That's right. Good girl." And, as always, when Phil calls me that it's not patronizing or demeaning, but loving and the nicest compliment he can ever give me. "I'm so proud of you and your brother. The both of you. Best thing I've ever done."

Well, damn- turns out there was a nicer compliment.

"Don't die. Please. Don't die," I'm quite aware I'm getting hysterical and _if that isn't humiliating_, but this is Phil and I can embarrass myself all I want in front of him and he'll still act like I hung the moon.

"Shhh, Arlie, you've got to calm down," and then he says the one thing guaranteed to pull me together and get shit done, "Clint needs you."

"Ok, Phil."

"Good girl." And then he was gone.

Fury comes around the corner a few seconds after I realize that Phil Coulson is no more and stands a few steps back. I can hear it when the breath gets caught in the Director's throat and I've never fully realized before now that, yes, Nick Fury _is_ human. I pull myself together properly and don't bother to wipe the tears off my face- it won't do any good with Phil's blood covering my hands. I share a look with the Director of SHIELD and it's the first moment in our entire acquaintance that we respect and face each other as equals. Then I'm gone- taking off down the hallway because _Clint needs me_.

"Agent Coulson is down," Fury's voice comes over the comms as I look for Tasha.

"A medical team is on its way to your location."

"They're here.

"They called it."

I find Tasha in an empty hall, sitting up against the wall with her face like a blank page of paper.

"Tasha?" I call and she turns to me. She scans me, checking for injuries and her eyes get stuck on my hands.

"I knocked him out. Clint. I managed to knock him out. You said that might bring him back?"

"I-I don't know," I whisper. She stands slowly, stiffly, and makes her way to me.

"Arlie- you're smart. Smarter than you believe. It'll work. He'll be back."

I nod at her, tears still coming down my face.

"I'm going to wait for him to wake up, check that he's all good, and then I'll call you. Go to the main control room- I'll comm Hill when he's awake."

I nod again and start walking, Owl butts his head against me and woofs softly. I look down at him.

Phil had helped me pick out Owl- he had been with me that day. He had helped train Owl to protect me and when the woman at the shelter asked if we were his kids, he'd said "yup."

He sounded so proud in that one little word.

Phil's gone. He won't come over on Sundays any more, he won't check in with me while Clint's on a mission so he can make sure I'm OK and that I know Clint is too. He won't get any more Captain America cards.

I won't make him any more red velvet cake.

God- how are we going to tell Clint?

Phil's gone.


	50. Her Hands

**Ok guys- wow. The response to the last chapter...on top of the response to "Fresh Out" is just blowing me away. I never expected Reliant to become something with this level of a following & it's just...wow.**

**At any rate- CLINT'S BACK!**

**Please read, review, PM me, ect. and enjoy!**

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Steve)**

I sit in the main control room with Stark in silence. Banner and Thor are missing, the hellicarrier is still under repair, though flying, and Phil Coulson was declared dead a few hours ago.

Then Kansas- Arlie- _she_ walks into the room with Owl beside her.

The dog's head hangs down, and he looks the picture of a mournful canine. She's pale, and her steps are slow and then I notice the blood. Her hands are covered in it and it's drying- flaking off of her skin as she walks towards the window.

"Kansas?" I ask, worried- it's a lot of blood.

"Arlie?" Stark chimes in, looking at her hands and then her face. "Shit- she's in shock, I think. Hey- Tiny- you in there?" he's about to stand up out of his chair when I go to her. I grasp her arms and force her eyes to meet mine.

"Kansas- Arlie- the blood-"

She stutters and her words are so soft I can barely hear her. "It's- it's not mine. Not mine."

I look again at her face and put two and two together.

God- she was with him when he died. And he was practically her father. Oh, god, no wonder she's practically comatose.

I move her to a chair and sit her down, my anger, my bitterness, every issue I have with her forgotten in the face of the fact that _she just watched her father die_.

I sit beside her and move to hold her hand despite all the blood when she stands back up and walks towards the edge of the raised platform we're all on, looking out the widow. The rising sun casts a light around her that is outlining her in gold and casting the red of the blood in sharp relief and makes the tear stains on her face look like tracks of silver. I'm about to go to her again when Stark clears his throat and shakes his head at me- she needs space.

Fury walks in, holding something in his hands. He stands in front of us at the head of the table, with the light of the morning sun shining in behind him. It turns him into a black shadow, cast on the table. But it continues to dance around her, the dust in the air swirling in patterns I can't understand as the sun hits them.

One hand rises in front of her stomach, palm up, as she examines it dispassionately.

Fury begins to speak after examining her for a brief moment.

"These were in Phil Coulson's jacket," he says, lifting what he has in his hand up slightly. Her hand clenches and she turns to see what Fury has to say, still somehow maintaining an unnatural level of stillness, so odd in a girl I'm sure I've never seen stop moving. "I guess he never did get you to sign them," he adds bitterly before tossing the objects in front of us on the table.

It's Captain America trading cards- covered in blood.

She chokes briefly and then blinks rapidly as her breath stutters.

"We're dead in the air up here," Fury continues as I reach to pick up a card. I see my own image saluting at me, standing tall- but the corner of the card is soaked in blood. It's spattered slightly on the table from when Fury threw them. "Our communications, the location of the cube, Banner, Tor, I got nothing for you. I lost my one good eye.

"Maybe I had that coming.

"Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because I was playing something even risker.

"There was an idea, Stark knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people. See if they could become something more. See if they could _work_ together when we needed them to. To fight the battles we never could.

"Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea. In heroes."

Stark stands swiftly, takes a quick glance at her, and leaves.

"Well," Fury says, "It's an old-fashioned notion."

Hill suddenly stands beside her.

"Agent Romanoff just called-" and before the Agent can even finish the sentence, Kansas- Arlie- she is running past all of us, Owl barely keeping up beside her.

I look at Agent Hill, confused. She looks back at me and says without inflection, "Her brother just woke up."

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Clint)**

When I first come to, I realize I'm no longer completely trapped in my own mind. But everything is off- the colors, the shapes- it's distorted, but then a voice comes to me.

"Clint," _Nat_, "You're gonna be alright."

There's still some rements of Loki inside of me, it makes me bitter, makes me angry. I push and push in an attempt to push them right out of my skull. I've got a monster headache that beats any injury I've ever had before.

I'd rather get shot again than have this pounding on the inside of my skull.

"You know that?" I ask her with a dark chuckle, "Is that what you know?" A part of me, the part that _is_ me, focuses on Nat's voice, holds on to it, uses it to guide me past all the shadows and the blood and the parts of my brain that are still piecing back together after being pulled apart.

"I've got no window. I have to flush him out."

"You have to level out, it's going to take some time," Nat's voice is even, it's sensible, it's beautiful as it comes to me and the room clears of its distortion finally.

"You don't understand," I mutter, "You ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and stuff something else in?

"Do you know what it's like to be unmade?"

"You know that I do." With that final sentence, I'm back. Panting slightly, I realize: _I'm back._

I hadn't thought I'd ever come back. "Why am I back?" I question Nat, trying to turn and see her, but I'm restrained to the bed, "How'd you get him out?"

"Cognitive recalibration," she says, moving to sit in front of me. "I hit you really hard on the head."

I look at her- her hair, her eyes, the slope of her nose, the cut of her jaw. I can smell gunpowder and citrus from where I recline- the scent of Nat. I could cry from all of this being suddenly in front of me again. And then Nat begins to untie me.

"Thanks," I tell her, still not quite believing she's in front of me. She looks up at me and smiles. It's a special Nat smile- one that's just for me. With that, I believe.

"Natasha- how many agents did I-?" I begin but she cuts me off sharply.

"Don't," her eyes contain a warning of the darkness that waits at the end of that train of thought, "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is… monsters and magic and _nothing_ we were ever trained for."

"Loki," I ask, "He get away?"

"Yeah. Don't suppose you know where?"

"Didn't need to know," I reply as she gets up from the bed, "Didn't ask," I move to sit up and grab the water she had poured for me. Trust Nat to know what I'd need for this. "He's gonna make his play soon, though," I tell her, "Today." I'm certain.

"We've gotta stop him," Nat says, turning around to fix me with a burning look. I've seen her determined before, but now she's practically on fire.

"Yeah, who's "we"?"

"I don't know," she says, still not fazed, "Whoever's left."

I nod. "Well…if I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose."

Nat moves to sit beside me, a relieved smile on her face. "Now you sound like you."

"But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Loki do to you?" I ask, worried. If Loki went after Nat...I'll need more than a single arrow in his eye socket. I'll need to make him _bleed_, make him wait for the final death.

"He didn't. I just," she stops herself, turning her eyes inward as she attempts to unravel her feelings, her thoughts.

"Natasha," I whisper, calling her back to me.

"I've been compromised," and her eyes are scorching, "I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."

"Compromised?" I ask.

"Phil," she whispers quickly and my heart stops briefly.

"Phil?"

Nat shakes her head, once, quickly, but it was all the confirmation I need. My head falls down into my hands without conscious thought. Phil's gone? How is that possible? Phil's not supposed to die- he's…he's Phil Coulson, damn it.

"Loki's a dead man," I say, feeling the anger building higher and higher. I'm just about to get lost in it when Nat's voice cuts through to me again.

"Arlie's here."

"What?" I turn to look at Nat, confused.

"She's safe. Fury and Phil tried to send her to Japan when you were taken, but I called her. She would have been safer where we could watch over her. Besides, I figured you'd do everything to keep Loki from finding out about her."

I nod, "I did- he got to Phil and you, but I managed to hide Arlie."

"Good," Nat nods, "He'll never see her coming."

"She's not fighting him," I answer, feeling myself get angry at Nat. I can't remember ever actually being angry with the red head before, but she's risking Arlie now.

"She was with Phil, Clint," Nat tells me as my heart stutters, "and it's up to her. Now I promised I would call her when you woke up- ok?"

"Yeah," I reply hoarsely, just wanting to see my sister. Natasha gets a hold of Hill and tells Fury's right hand woman to send Arlie to us.

"She's been helping since she found out Fury sent her on a false trail," Nat tells me, sitting down beside me again. Our hands find each other and link, and she leans in to me slightly, not quite touching, but close. "She actually socked Fury across the jaw. You should've seen it," I chuckle- I can just picture my tiny little sister punching out the Director's lights. "She was quite…impassioned. Banner and Stark really like her, and I think once Rogers gets over the fact she's not really named Kansas-" I cut off Nat.

"Wait- he found out her name? How?"

"Fury tried to keep her from knowing what was going on by saying she had no legal right according to SHIELD to know your whereabouts, she stood in the middle of the main control and announced herself to the room."

I sigh, "Damn it."

"It was really only a matter of time, Clint."

"I know. But still- it's- it's Arlie."

"I know. But she was the one to figure out how to bring you back, anyways."

"She did?" I smile at that, "I always said she was smart."

Suddenly the door bursts open and my sister is in practically in my lap as she throws herself at me. I wrap her up in a hug, noticing Owl jumping up on Nat with a whimper and Nat petting the massive dog as he struggles to fit his massive self on the bed with the rest of us. Arlie's got tears streaming down her face and so I rock her like I dimly remember our mother doing when I had nightmares.

"Arlie- oh, Arlie- don't cry- c'mon, I can't let you cry," I tell her as she hiccups and sqeezes herself closer to me.

"You were gone," she chokes out.

"And now I'm back."

"Phil-"

"I know."

"I was with him."

"Tasha told me."

"I've got blood on my hands." Her voice is tiny and higher pitched than usual, and at first I think she's being metaphoric (which caused my heart to squeeze) and then I realized she was being literal (which caused it to break) and there was dried blood all over her hands and part of her upper arms and it was flaking off her skin.

"We'll clean it up." I tell her.

"But what if they need it for… I don't know, evidence or something or Phil needs," she's getting slightly hysteric when Nat steps in, placing a hand on Arlie's head and shushing her.

"It's ok- they won't need it. You just wash it right off. Here," and she stands up, goes to the water pitcher by the bed and begins to use it to wash my sister's hands of Phil's blood.

It's one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had: sitting on the bed with Arlie in my lap, Owl to my left, and Nat kneeling before Alrie, washing Phil's blood off my sister's hands.

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Steve)**

I find Stark in the room Phil Coulson died- the room meant for the Hulk, used for Loki, from which he escaped.

"Was he married?" I ask, fairly certain he wasn't, but I couldn't be sure what Kansas had told me was true and what wasn't. It gutted me to be still uncertain.

"No," says Stark quickly, "There was a uh- cellist. I think," the last bit is whispered.

"I'm sorry," I say, as its clear Stark knew the man. Maybe not as much as Kansas- Arlie- her, but she was with her brother right now and Stark was alone. "He seemed like a good man," I add.

"He was an idiot," Stark corrects me.

"Why?" I ask- not believing the man was actually saying that about the dead man. "For believing?"

"For taking on Loki alone."

"He was doing his job," I defend.

Stark scoffs, "He was out of his league. He should have waited. He should have-" he shakes his head, unable to continue. "Her hands," I hear him whisper slightly to himself. I know what he means- the image of her hands is probably burned onto the back of my eyelids. It's right next to the image of Bucky falling.

"Sometimes there isn't a way out, Tony," I tell him.

"Right," he says bitterly, "I've heard that before." He's passing me by as I realize what the problem is here.

"Is this the first time you lost a soldier?"

"We are _not_ soldiers!" he tells me, almost accusingly. He's quiet for a long moment, struggling with what to say. "I'm not marching to Fury's fife," he finally tells me.

"Neither am I," I say, agreeing that SHIELD won't be any good here, "He's got the same blood on his hands that Loki does." The blood that is literally painting Kansas's arms. "But right now we've got to put that behind us and _get this done_." Stark looks over at the section of wall where Agent Coulson had died, "Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list-"

"He made it personal." Stark says suddenly.

"That's not the point," I tell him, not wanting him to go off on a personal mission of vengeance.

"That _is_ the point," he corrects me, clearly with something going on in his head. "That's Loki's point- he hit us all right where we live. Why?"

"To tear us apart," I reply. It's obvious.

"Yeah. Divide and conquer is…great, but he knows he has to take us out to win, right? _That's_ what he wants. He wants to beat us, he wants to be seen doing it," Stark's on a roll, "He wants an audience."

"Right," I nod, "I caught his act in Stuttgart."

"Yeah. That's just previews. This. This is opening night and Loki, he's a full-tilt diva, right? He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built to the skies with his name plastered-" Stark cuts himself off. I raise my eyebrows, realizing what he's saying here.

"Son of a bitch," Stark says, dashing off.


	51. Interlude: You Have Heart

**So I just got back home after going to my cousin's bridal shower (it was super fun!) and I found all your lovely reviews from the chapter this morning and I decided...time for an interlude. Now, a couple chapters back, RoxasGuyXIII asked me if I was planning on writing any chapters from Clint's POV while he was being controlled by Loki. I had decided not to, because it was quite simply a concept I couldn't wrap my head around. I don't know what it's like to be unmade. I know how it feels to be scared, angry, happy, loving, ect., but being unmade is not something I have ever experienced (nor do I particularly want to) and so I felt unequipped to write Clint being controlled by Loki.**

**However, I did write him being taken over in the first place. :D**

* * *

**April 11th, 2012 (Clint)**

"Agent Barton, report." I hear Fury call me on the radio, as I watch over the Tesseract and all the scientists working on it. The scientists are annoyed with me at this point- at first they were amused with all my queries, then impressed with how much I understood, but now they're just irritated that I'm questioning them and hovering above in the rafters. My "nest" they call it.

"I gave you this detail so you could keep a close eye on things," Fury lectures me once I reach the ground.

"Well, I see better from a distance," I tell him.

"Have you seen anything that might set this off?" Fury asks, gesturing to the Tesseract.

One scientist calls over Dr. Selvig because of another energy spike.

I don't like this.

"No one's come or gone," I begin to explain my theory to Fury as we approach the Tesseract, "And Selvig's clean. No contacts, no IMs. If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn't at this end."

Fury gives me a look, and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Phil's right and I'm smarter than most people, or if maybe Fury just likes having everything spelled out.

"At this end?" he repeats.

"Yeah," I say, "The cube is a doorway to the other end of space, right?" Fury just looks at me, expressionless, "Doors open from both sides." I add with a shrug.

Suddenly the Tesseract starts shooting out bolts of blue energy that looks almost like lightening. The ground starts to shake a bit and I'm wondering what exactly it is we've unleashed here.

Damn.

I stand next to Fury and watch the cube go into some sort of meltdown and then power up. I can feel the air vibrating with energy as a high-pitched whirling begins to emit from the Tesseract. This is _so_ not going to be good. Next thing we know, it's projecting a portal across from us, opening out onto space. It would be beautiful and amazing if it wasn't potentially so dangerous. A shock wave of blue energy pulses outward and we're forced to briefly cover our eyes from the light. When I lower my arm to look, there is a man standing where the portal had once been. He's average hight, black hair kept long, in a strange costume. He's crouched to the ground, kneeling, and then he looks up at us. His eyes are feverish, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat; he looks insane and he gives us a grin that caused my heart to turn a few degrees cold. _Not. Good._

"Sir. Please put down the spear," Fury says in a booming voice as the man rises to his feet. He looks over at us with wild eyes and I can tell right now- this will only end in bruises. The spear in question is odd looking- it has a blue globe inlaid that seems to glow with the same blue light as the cube.

Shit.

He looks at his spear and lifts it to his face slowly before firing at us a bolt of blue light. I push the Director to the side and we dodge it. Other Agents have begun firing, I can hear the bullets as I get up. I pull my own gun and begin firing with a few other agents behind me. The man with the spear looks at us with annoyance and sends another bolt of energy my way. I dodge to the side again, but the men behind me aren't so quick. This guy already has a high body count for someone who's apparently been on this earth for all of twenty seconds. The room is silent, and I stand once more to try and attack the maniac with the spear. He runs up behind me and blocks my arm with a strength I can't match.

"You have heart," he says to me, and it sounds too much like Phil telling me I have conviction, but instead of the feeling of pride that I get when Phil says this, I get a sinking feeling.

_I can't die here, I can't leave them_. The spear comes towards me and the tip is pressing into the flesh just above my heart when the tip begins to glow blue. I can't look away. I can't run. I can't fight, and then suddenly I'm trapped in my own mind with someone pulling apart the pieces and playing with them. A memory comes up: playing with linken logs with Barney as kids. I can feel him- _Loki_- in my head, amused with my comparison.

I shove all thoughts of Arlie in the far corner, buried under memories of useless things that Loki will have no interest in- solitary walks in parks, sunsets I've seen, different foods I like. I try to lead him away, distracting him with memories of torturous moments in my life- the assassinations I've done, the fights with Barney, the betrayal, the hurt.

He gets his grubby hands on memories of Tasha and examines them. It hurts, I'd be screaming if I had any control over myself, but I trust Tasha to take care of herself, so I give up the memories of Tasha and Phil and Fury in favor of hiding the memories of Arlie even farther away.

I can feel my free will slipping away from me, but luckily for me, protecting Arlie has never been something something about free will. It's gut instinct, something of a knee-jerk reaction. I hope that's enough to save her.

"Sir," I tell Loki, walking up to him, much of me wanting to help him- he's giving me the truth- but another part of me is screaming, agonized as my brain is dissected and pulled apart and put together in the imagie of Loki- something that was never meant to be. Something unnatural. "Director Fury is stalling," I find myself saying, knowing this to be true. "This place is about to blow and drop about a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us."

The rest is a blur until Loki turns to me. "Well, then," _Kill him._

I go to shoot the director but fight it long enough to aim for the chest rather than the head. _Fury always wears a vest._

Loki doesn't know everything yet.

I grab the Tesseract and leave.

"I need these vehicles," I tell Hill. Loki begins to pick apart my memories of her as well, like a vulture pulling strips of meat from a carcass.

"Who's that?" she asks.

"They didn't tell me," I lie to her with the truth.

Next thing I know, I'm shooting at Hill and driving away as fast as the vehicle can go.

Hill is a fantastic driver, but I've got Loki in my brain with the knowledge of centuries.

No- Hill's a better driver.

But no one is better than Loki.

I'm fighting hard, and Loki gets aggrivated with my struggles. Suddenly, everything goes black and it's just me, hiding in a tiny corner of my mind, still fighting, trying to hold back as much as I can about my friends, and everything about Arlie. The attacks on my psyche are now more direct, more violent if that was possible.

_I am Agent Clint Barton_, I tell myself, _I was trained by Agent Phil Coulson and I am more than you._

I begin to recall a certain list I had given to Phil for safe keeping. As Loki plays and frolics with all my misdeeds, all my mistakes, all my sins, I recite to myself the list of good I've done that Phil has kept in safe keeping for me for ten years now.

It's not much, but it's enough to keep me fighting.

And I have to keep fighting- at the very least for Arlie.


	52. Suit Up

**Alright- time for the Battle of New York! This takes about two and a half chapters to go through, actually. It is just craziness. **

**I'd like to thank anyone who has read, reviewed, followed, favorited, ect. You're wonderful and I am honored by your interest and support of Reliant.**

**So- you guys ready? Avengers- Assemble!**

* * *

"Let's do a head count here. Your brother, the demi-god; a super soldier, a living legend who kinda lives up to the legend; a man with _breath-taking_ anger management issues; a couple master assassins; a little sister who will _blindside_ you; and you, big fella, you've managed to piss off every single one."

…

"And there's one other person you pissed off. His name was Phil."

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Arlie)**

"The Tesseract," I suddenly remember, "Bruce isn't here- but before everything…I saw. The Tesseract is in New York City. Manhattan."

Tasha and Clint exchange a look.

"You sure?" Clint asks me, his hands settling on my upper arms. I nod.

"I saw the coordinates. What do we do now?" I look over at Tasha.

"Arlie-" Clint tries to say, but Tasha plows over him.

"We need to get to New York and figure out where in the city Loki's got it. We're going to need more than just the three of us, though."

Clint sighs and shakes his head, "I need to clean up," he stands and heads to the bathroom attached to the room. Tasha and I exchange a glance.

"I expected more push back on that," I say, casting the door my brother is behind a suspicious glance.

Tasha gives a hum, "I think he's tired. And he's relieved you're here and in one piece. And he won't have the heart to get properly mad at you until much later. He'll take a couple of hours to get back to his usual annoying self."

"You love his usual annoying self."

"Doesn't mean I won't take advantage of it when he's not being an ass."

The door opens and Steve walks in.

"Time to go," he tells Tasha.

"Go where?" she asks, standing and turning to face Steve head on. I rise as well.

"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?"

The door clicks open and Clint walks out, tossing a towel to the side. "I can," He replies.

Steve takes a look at my brother and turns to Tasha, she nods, letting him know Clint's really back. Steve then looks to me and I nod as well. He turns to my brother.

"Got a suit?" Clint nods. "Then suit up." As he's leaving I turn to Clint.

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" Steve says, turning back around.

"Arlie," my brother sighs.

"Yes, bird brain?"

He looks at me for a long moment, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm going to get hurt no matter what."

"Arlie- I can't keep you safe."

"I don't want you to- I want you to keep yourself safe."

"You don't need to come," Steve chimes in, "We've got Stark in on this as well."

I ignore the soldier in favor of convincing my brother.

"I can't let you go without me, Clint. If you do, I'm just going to follow you."

"She's got a point," Tasha says with a shake of her head, looking at my brother with an expression that clearly says "I think she's right."

"Arlie," he sighs again and grabs my hands in his, looking at them carefully. They're slightly pink now from washing the blood off them, and my brother turns them over in his several times as if he could find the words he wants in the lines on my palms or the indents of my knuckles. "I can't keep you safe- I'm not Iron Man or Captain America."

"You mean you're not a hero?" I ask. "You and Tasha- you don't think you're heroes." It's my turn to sigh as I look at my brother carefully, "You think because you don't have superpowers to fight the bad guys with you're not a hero? You think having a bad past excludes you from the club?" I giggle at my idiot brother. "Bird brain, you've _always_ been a hero. You're more of a hero than anybody I know. _Because_ you don't have superpowers, _because_ you've got a bad past, _because_ you fight anyways."

He smirks at me and jokes, "You're just saying that because you want me to let you go."

"I'm saying it because you've always been my hero." Clint suddenly looks at me with shock- and he looks uncomfortably proud. It's clearly getting too emotional here, "Even if you're a bird brain," I add punching him lightly in the arm.

"Hey- watch the bow arm!"

"Shut up, bird brain- and suit up."

"Alright, alright- god, munchkin, you're so bossy."

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Yes," I hear Tasha say and we turn to see her talking to Steve who looks a little confused, "They're always like this."

He gives her a small smile and then nods to the three of us before leaving the room.

"So- let's get Loki," my brother says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

"For Phil," I say with a nod.

Tasha nods and adds, "For all of us."

Tasha, I don't know how, manages to find a suit for me. She hands me the SHIELD gear and tells me to put it on. It's got all sorts of nifty little pockets for stashing knives and guns and any other weapon you can imagine. Tasha loans me some knives (she's more of a gun girl- my brother, though, can throw them with serious skill after the circus) and I also make sure to holster Phil's gun. It kinda feels like having him backing me up.

After changing, I join up with the assassins and we find Steve. Seeing Steve in full regalia, cowl, shield, and everything, it's the first time I've realized that yes: he is _actually_ Captain America.

It's weird.

Stark meets up with us briefly.

"I'm almost done fixing the suit," He tells me, "But I wanted you to take a look at it, care to peak?"

"I'd love to," I reply, following. Clint makes to follow me and Tony waves him off.

"Don't bother, Robin Hood, she's got the hound, and _I'm_ not going to hit on your baby sister. You should keep an eye on Stars and Stripes, though."

I shake my head and shove Tony further down the hall, telling Clint I'll meet up with him in five minutes, to make sure he and Tasha have all their weapons. I notice Steve blushing.

After a quick glance at the Iron Man suit (Narcissist he may be, but Tony Stark is _not_ exaggerating when he calls himself a genius), I start digging through SHIELD's drawers. I eventually find what I'm looking for.

"Here," I tell Tony, tossing him a bracelet.

"What is this?" he asks, putting it on anyways. It slides up to his elbow, so it's really more of an armband.

"Well, SHIELD hasn't finished developing them yet, but," I start typing on a laptop I snag from an Agent's desk, "When you're in range- about 500 miles range- I can monitor your vitals, keep track of your location," he looks over my shoulder at the screen displaying a flashing dot over the coordinates we're at along with his heart rate and blood pressure along with other medical data, "and it's supposed to also work as a comm- but they're having some trouble with that still, so we'll use the in-the-ear ones. I'm not a fighter, but I'm a damn good brain- I can make sure you're all where you're needed and keep an eye on you. Send help if necessary."

Stark looks at me, "You are one impressive chick, Mitnick."

I smile at him and leave to get some of the bracelets on the other three.

"How did you know SHIELD had these?" Steve asks as I help Clint put on his with all his arm guards for the bow.

I shrug, "I hack SHIELD pretty frequently. I'd be surprised if there was something going on that I didn't know."

Walking down to the plane, everyone steps aside to make way for the four of us. We walk up the ramp and the pilot turns around.

"Hey," he says, clearly uncomfortable, "You guys aren't authorized to be in here."

"Son," Steve states, "Just don't."

"If it makes you feel better," I add, peaking from behind my brother's back, peering around his arrows. "We can have my dog bark at you."

He looks at Owl, who wags his tail slightly. Shaking his head, the man gets out of our way.

While Clint checks over the plane for pre-flight, we make sure our comms are connected to Stark.

"Arlie- what are you going to need?" he asks me.

"Your best computers," I tell him.

"I'm hooking you up with JARVIS," he replies, "The tenth floor of the tower's got what you need."

"What's your plan, Stark?" asks Tasha as Owl climbs in her lap to lick her face. She rolls her eyes and buckles the dog in with her. I'm not sure how she managed to make that into an appropriate harness for him, but the assassins can probably MacGyver anything, really.

"I'm going to stop him."

"If that doesn't work?"

"I'll convince him he should have."

"Sounds like a plan," I reply before Tasha can, hooking up to Stark's AI, JARVIS, using the computer I'd taken from the hellicarrier. It's not the best, but with the help of the AI, I can manage until I get to the better stuff.

"What are you doing?" Steve asks as he looks over my shoulder to where I'm typing away.

"Well, JARVIS here is helping me essentially break into every camera in Manhattan. Then, we're going to use some facial recognition software to keep track of where the Chitauri are- they'll be strange enough that the computer will recognize them all as the same face. Then, I'll condense the information into a program I'm writing that will put a sort of density map over the layout of New York that I've got with your guys' armband trackers- which will let me know roughly how many Chitauri are where and when in relation to the rest of you. As well as monitoring your conditions."

"Oh- that's-that's helpful."

"You still angry with me, yeah?"

"Little bit."

"You gonna get less angry with me?"

"I don't know, Kansas-Arlie- uh."

"You can call me whatever you want," I say as a peace offering.

"No- it's- it's your name. I mean- I didn't even know your name. I've…I've told you a lot and," He cuts himself off- looking towards the cockpit where Clint and Tasha are talking softly to themselves.

"It's just," he continued in a softer tone, "I've told you a lot and I feel like there's just an…imbalance."

"You think I might have lied to you?" I ask, pausing in my work.

"I just- I don't know."

"Steve- I never lied to you about anything. I mean, I did call…Phil my dad," he sits beside me as I try to struggle through the next sentence, "But that was because, it's just- Clint doesn't know you, and we kinda don't usually- even SHIELD didn't know I was Clint's sister. I mean, Fury found out, but he was unofficial so," I'm floundering for words, "I'm not sure what I'm trying to say here."

"We'll talk after?"

"After."

As we fly towards Stark Towers, we see a massive beam of blue light that travels from the top of the tower upwards. It looks unreal and I exchange a glance with Clint- _I hope we know what we're doing_.

Tasha reconnects communications with Tony. "Stark, we're on your three, headed northeast."

"What?" Tony says, sounding panicked, "Did you stop for drive-through? Swing up Park, I'm going to lay them out for you."

My brother continues to fly while Tasha fires with scary accuracy.

"Nat?" he says when we come up to Stark Tower. That's when I know my brother is _far _from 100%- my brother never calls Tasha "Nat" in front of other people, I'm pretty sure he only calls her that when it's just the two of them.

"I see him," she replies. I look up to see what they're talking about- Loki and Thor are going head to head on top of the Tower. We get a couple shots at Loki before he takes out one engine of the plane.

"Get up here and hold on," Steve tells me as I shut down the laptop after having JARVIS save my work. Captain America boosts me up to the ceiling and has me hold onto some bars, he comes up behind me and we brace ourselves. Clint takes a quick peak over his shoulder before Tasha curses at him in Russian.

"Eyes on the sky, Barton!"

She checks on us as well, though.

The plane bounces and tumbles but Steve's got my back so I make it out with minimal brusing. Clint's focused entirely on putting the jet down now and he lands with a crash that throws me forward until Steve's arm catches me around the waist.

"Everyone good?" Clint asks once it all settles down.

"Not your best landing, bird brain," I say as everyone else replies in the affirmative.

"Shut up, munchkin. Let's go," he opens up the ramp (which surprisingly still works after that crash) and we start walking out, Owl once again by my side.

It's a war-zone with alarms blaring, people screaming, and the Chitauri firing on anything and everything.

"They all look the same," I say, examining the aliens up close.

"I'm sure we all look the same to them, too," Tasha replies.

"We need to get back up there," shouts Steve over the noise, becoming a leader before our eyes. We all nod and dash off to Stark Tower- it's the epicenter of everything, and it's where we're needed.

A deep groan that echoes over the city makes us stop in our tracks as we look up to see a leviathan descend from the sky, releasing more Chitauri from its belly and smashing into the buildings.

"Stark, you seeing this?" Steve asks over the comm.

"Seeing," replies Tony, "Still working on believing." He begins to talk rapidly, "Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?"

"Banner?" Steve questions.

"Just keep me posted," Tony enigmatically replies.

I nod, "He'll come- fast as he can."

"Good to know I've got the smart one on my side. You gotta tell me- what _do_ you see in Spangles?"

Clint stiffens and I roll my eyes, "Shut up, Stark, and get to work."

Tasha turns to me, "We need Arlie in Stark Tower five minutes ago."

"I'll keep going, you guys follow," I nod.

"Arlie," my brother begins, but I cut him off.

"Shut up, bird brain- I'll be fine. I've got Owl with me."

He sighs, "OK- be safe, munchkin."

I start walking away and call over my shoulder, "Paranoid!"

"Protective!" he shouts back.

Two Chitauri come at me from my left and right. Owl goes after the one on the right, growling and clamping down on the alien's arm. I wonder if the blood will be some other color than red. I whip out a knife Tasha had given me, rolling under the Chitauri's arm and slitting the knife up his gut and into their throat.

"Have fun, guys!" I shout as I continue walking without breaking stride.

"I taught her to do that," I hear Tasha's voice behind me.

"Shit, what _else_ have you taught her, Nat?"

Owl and I run through the streets- it's so strange, seeing the city I live in turned into rubble and ash.

"Hey, bird brain- just remember," I tell my brother over the comm. "Don't forget the wind."

"I don't know," he jokes, "The one time I did turned out pretty well."


	53. As A Team

**Part 2 of the Battle of New York! Arlie gets to the Tower & I fix a plot hole that has been bothering me. Yay!**

**Anyways: please read, review, request interludes, and enjoy!**

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Arlie)**

Another Chitauri comes at me straight on and I somersault to the ground and use the momentum to launch myself off my back so that my legs plow into the alien's gut and it falls back with me stomping on its chest. My knife sinks into the creature and that's when I notice the odd armor it's got on. There's a collarbone sort of thing that has blue lights across it.

_Hmmm_.

I take a quick glance around- it's mostly civilians now and no one's really paying attention to me- I don't see any Chitauri coming at me, and Owl's got my back, so I begin to try and remove the armor around their collarbone. Or, what I'm guessing is the collarbone. Do Chitauri aliens _have_ collarbones?

It comes off with a pop and I notice there are some needles that had gone into the alien's body- there's also a lot of wiring and tech in the thing.

"Whoa," I actually say out loud.

"Arlie?" I hear my brother say over the comm, worried.

"I found something fun to play with," I tell them.

"What is it?" asks Steve.

"I don't know yet. But it looks important."

I get up and, holding on to the armor piece, keep moving at a run. I'm not here to fight- I'm here to get to the Tower.

"Those people need assistance down there!" the comm is stuck in my ear, but with the sounds of people screaming around me and the battle raging, I can barely hear Steve.

"We've got this," Tasha's voice is only slightly louder, "It's good. Go!"

"You think you can hold them off?" A Chitauri comes at me from my left, Owl is on my right, and so I swing the armor I had stolen from the other alien and clock it across the face. It turns back to me and growls.

"Captain," Clint replies as I kick at what I think is a knee and the Chitauri falls to the ground, "It would be my genuine pleasure."

Owl is growling beside me, but he doesn't bother attacking the alien on the ground since I've already taken a knife and shoved it in its throat.

We move on, running- I need to be at Stark Tower five hours ago.

"Just like Budapest all over again!" Tasha's voice is unexpectedly loud in my ear as I reach a deserted part of the city.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently," my brother replies.

"Good god, you two- stop flirting!" I huff.

"That's them flirting?" Tony questions.

"Shut up," my brother and I say in unison.

"Ok- _that's_ just creepy," he replies, ignoring us.

I'm about three streets away from Stark Tower when a Chitauri comes out of nowhere- or maybe it dropped from the sky above, and it grabs me. I'm pinned up against it, my arms pressed against me with the force of its grip, one arm thrown around my neck. Owl growls and barks but can't get anywhere near the alien without hurting me as well.

I really, _really_ hope their anatomy is similar to ours because otherwise I'm screwed.

I step as hard as I can on the foot and use the momentary surprise to twist enough in the loosened grip to elbow it in the gut.

Not a good plan.

I can feel my elbow crack and so I shove my hand up at the face, pushing into the nose. Or what should be a nose. I'm really not sure.

Ok- time to run.

These things have freaky wobbly legs- they can't run that fast.

Can they?

Owl and I take off, dashing past debris and rubble and the alien gives chase.

Then it happens- I trip like Slutty Girl #3 in a B-Grade horror film and the Chitauri is about to shoot me.

Fun fact: I did _not_ see my life flash before my eyes. I saw a black-brown blur.

Owl.

He knocked the Chitauri's gun clear out of its hands and then pivoted to face the alien again. My beautiful, wonderful dog stood before me, hunched over slightly, and growled the most vicious sounding snarl I've ever heard at the alien. It was more ferocious, more terrifying, than the Hulk's roar.

That's when I find myself reaching for Phil's gun and in one smooth motion, pulling it out of the holster and shooting the alien right between the eyes.

Huh- I was aiming for the heart.

Owl comes up to me and sniffs me over, nudging my face and licking my cheek.

"хорошая собака," (good dog) I manage to sigh out.

I'm fairly certain I've broken or twisted or something-ed my ankle, but Owl and I rise up and keep going.

"What's the story upstairs?" Steve's voice crackles.

There's a long pause and then Tony speaks up.

"Thor is right. We gotta deal with these guys."

"How do we do this?" Tasha says with her usual tone. She sounds almost bored. It's incredibly comforting as I limp through the city.

"As a team."

Those words lift me up more than anything- _they're going to win. Oh, Phil- the Avengers are going to win._

"I have unfinished business with Loki," I hear Thor's voice faintly over the comm- he must not have one.

"Yeah, get in line," both Clint and I reply at the same time.

"Save it," Steve scolds us into silence, "Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us and that's what we need. Without him these things could run wild. We got Stark up top, he's gonna need us-" Steve suddenly cuts off.

"Steve?" I question, worried.

"I've seen worse," Tasha says. I feel like I'm missing a conversation here. "No, we could use a little worse."

"Stark? We got him."

"Banner?" Tony says, not sounding like he's really questioning it at all. We both knew he'd come.

"Bruce arrived? Is he OK?" I ask.

"Well, he could use a better pair of pants, but he's here. Just like you said."

"Tell him to suit up," Tony orders, "I'm bringing the party to you."

"I- I don't see how that's a party," I hear Tasha stutter slightly. She sounds confused rather than fearful, though, so I move on.

"Dr. Banner," Steve says with a tinge of distress, "Now may be a really good time for you to get angry."

I'm faced with a huge piece of rubble.

"You've got to be shitting me," I mutter.

"Arlie?" Clint immediately asks.

"God, shut up bird brain- I just have to remember those mountain climbing lessons I took."

"You took mountain climbing lessons?" Tasha questions, "When?"

"Sarcasm, Nat," Clint replies for me.

"Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal up there, we're gonna use containment. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays until Kansas can get to the computers. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash."

"Wanna give me a lift?" my brother sounds remarkably casual for an alien invasion.

"Right. Better clench up, Legolas," I roll my eyes at Tony's nickname for my brother. Yeah- he'd do that.

"Thor, you've gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow them down. You've got the lightning. Light the bastards up. Arlie- how far are you from the Tower?"

"I'm only two blocks away now- Owl and I are almost there. We hit a few road bumps, but nothing we couldn't handle," My ankle is_ throbbing _and my elbow isn't much better_._

"Get there and get set up. We're going to need that Chitauri-tracking thing you've got going."

"It's not _tracking_- oh, you know what, never mind."

"You and me, we stay here on the ground, keep the fighting here. And Hulk. _Smash_." I can hear the Hulk's roar over the comms and I glance down at Owl.

I need to be at Stark Tower five days ago.

The next fifteen minutes or so becomes a blur- it's just reaction. A Chitauri on my left, my right, behind me, running to me, duck, dodge, pivot, somersault, weave. Knife, kick, punch, move out of Owl's way. My muscles are aching, my ankle and elbow are going numb and it seems positively endless. Like maybe this is all that is, all that has ever been, the pull of my muscles as I remember countless hours training with Phil and Clint and Tasha.

We were never trained for this.

When we reach the Tower I look upward to find the light of the Tesseract that is keeping the portal open. The doors are shut and blocked by debris, so I have to start digging. Owl helps, scratching and clawing his way through the rubble and within a few minutes we're through.

"Come on," I say, patting my leg as Owl follows me in. We've got to get to the tenth floor. _And_ the elevators are shut down.

Naturally.

Climbing the stairs with what I'm now _sure_ is a broken ankle is one of the most painful experiences ever. Especially since I refuse to slow down.

"Stark," I hear my brother on the comm and sigh in relief- he's still ok. "You got a lot of strings sticking to your tail."

"Just trying to keep them off the streets," Tony replies airily.

"Well, they can't bank worth a damn. Find a tight corner."

"I will roger that."

I reach the tenth floor and open it up- then I whistle.

"Damn, Tony- this is beautiful. I might cry."

"I know. So, nice call, Katniss- what else you got?"

"Well, Thor's taking on a squadron down on 6th."

"And he didn't invite me."

"Probably afraid you'd steal his thunder," I joke as I boot up a computer.

"Oh- that was simultaneously the best and worst joke of the day."

"I know. I didn't even have to think on that one."

"Arlie," Steve's voice interrupts my talk with Tony, "How's the computers going?"

"I've pretty much got the file back up on this one- Tony, can I have my own JARVIS? I want one."

"Maybe for your birthday, Mitnick."

"Ok- we are up and running. Owl," I point at the entrance, "защищать" (protect) and with the command my dog goes and sits by the door, watching the entry way with an intensity that reminds me of Clint looking down an arrow.

I should tell my brother he looks like my dog sometime when he's doing that.

"Alrighty then…I've got you guys- Tasha how are you?"

"Little winded," she admits, "Captain," she calls, not willing to focus on how she's not also a superhuman, "None of this is going to mean a damn thing if we don't close that portal," I let the two continue to talk as I pull out the Chitauri armor piece I carried through the streets and begin using Tony's tech to examine it. It's tech from outer space- how many chances will I get at this? I'm also keeping an eye on my family and the Avengers with the computer monitor, though.

"Are you sure about this?" I hear Steve question.

"Yeah," Tasha does _not_ sound sure, but probably only Clint and I would be able to really tell, "It's gonna be fun."

"Holy shit," I watch as the little blip on the screen that is Tasha suddenly starts moving a lot faster, "Tasha- what did you do?"

"Bit busy," is her reply. I take it to mean she'll be OK, so I go back to work on the outer space armor before me. It seems to be changing the air into a more nitrogen-dense mixture along with some other environmental adjustments.

"Oh!" I shout suddenly, almost wanting to smack myself on the head. Duh- they're _aliens_. Not all of outer space is going to be like Earth and Asgard.

"What? Arlie?" the comm is taken over by my brother's panicked voice.

"Chill, bird brain- I'm just exploring my new project. I'll let you know if it goes anywhere."

"Ok- but someone needs to help out Tasha- she's got some tails."

"On it," Tony says, and I hear his thrusters through the comm.

"Steve needs some help!" I shout, using other computer screens to start a tracking system so I'll have video rather than just location of the fighters. It'll make it easier to catch some things- like an alien sneaking up behind Tony that my brother fortunately spots in time.

"There's a pocket of Chitauri on 42nd street," I inform the group, "Inside the bank."

"They've got civilians," my brother reports, getting a closer look at where I direct him.

"I'm on it," Steve replies.

"Oh, you," I hear Tasha over the comm. I figure it's not directed at me, so I continue working. The armor I'm examining in my spare time (ha) appears to be controlled by a signal coming from the other side of the portal. Weird. "Hawkeye!" I hear Tasha call for my brother.

"Nat, what are you doing?" Clint sounds simultaneously confused and worried.

"Uh…a little help?" she calls.

I try to pull up a video of her, but she's in the air and all I can get video of properly is the ground. Damn.

"I've got him," Clint replies and I relax. My brother's got it handled. He'll get the sky, I'll get the ground.

"I'm at the tower," I hear Tasha say, "Arlie- you here too?"

"I'm on the tenth floor," I reply, "I don't think I'll be getting up to you any time soon," I cast a glance at my ankle, which I've propped up on a spare chair. Now is not the time to mention it.

I can faintly hear Tasha talking to someone- Doctor? Is Bruce up there? But then I hear the Hulk's roar and I know he's not. I give up the mystery to keep working on the armor and watching the various dots that represent Tony, Steve, Clint, and Tasha.

"Guys- Tony- you ok? You're vitals are _not _normal."

"Alien invasions aren't _normal_, Tiny," he replies.

"Whatever- you're not dying, but you're not healthy either- what did you do?"

"You ever hear the tale of Jonah?"

I pause and look upward to the sky, pleading for patience, "I don't want to know."

"It's a good story-"

"Don't. Want to know."

I watch as my brother's blip actually moves (he's stayed in the same position this whole time) and then his heart rate spikes.

"Clint? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine, munchkin- keep working. What have you learned with that little side project of yours?"

"Well, the Chitauri are aliens."

"Yeah…" Tony trails off.

"Well, they aren't like Thor and Loki- the environment of their home world must be different, because the blue glow-y things on their collarbones? It's a stabilizer- makes them able to walk around earth without dying. It's controlled by a signal that I _think _is coming from their…"

"You're going to say mother ship aren't you?" Tony asks.

"I don't want to," I say, wrinkling my nose.

"From the mother ship," Clint teases me, but his voice sounds pained.

"So if we cut off the signal, they all die?" Tony asks.

"I think so."

"Stark, you hearing me?" Fury's voice comes from nowhere; I look around my tech and realize it must be transmitting to Tony and, unwittingly, me- since I'm using his tech.

"Hello, Director," I say dryly.

"We have a missile heading straight for the city," he says, not acknowledging me. I feel something leaden settle in my stomach.

"How long?" Tony asks.

"Three minutes, at best."

_Shit_.


	54. Shawarma

**Alrighty, guys- here we have the final chapter that takes place during the Avengers. It's a bit messy since I just finished it & I'm a bit sleep deprived right now (damn Netflix and the availability of every Buffy episode- it's too tempting for the likes of me) so I'm just kind of "eh" about it. Whatever.**

**:D Hope you all enjoy- and try and leave a review! Thanks!**

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Arlie)**

_A nuke. A fucking nuke. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?!_

"Tony?" I ask, and I hate how entirely nervous my voice sounds.

"Relax, Tiny- I've got this," but I don't think he does.

"JARVIS- put everything we've got into the thrusters!"

"I just did," the British AI sounds so joltingly strange in this moment as I hold my breath. There's nothing I can do against a nuke. All I can do is watch.

"Steve needs help!" I shout as I notice his vitals take a hit. He must be injured for that.

"Thor's with me," he replies, "I'm good," he pauses and then talks to the thunder god. "What, you getting sleepy?"

"I can close it. Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down!" Tasha's voice has never sounded so beautiful.

"Do it!" Steve immediately shouts.

"No, wait," Tony interrupts. I have no idea what he's doing.

"Stark –these things are still coming!" Steve argues.

"I've got a nuke coming it, it's gonna blow in less than a minute."

"Oh," I sigh, realizing what Tony's got planned. "Tony-" I begin, but I don't know how to finish that sentence.

"I know just where to put it," he sounds casual, nonchalant.

"Stark, you know that's a one-way trip?" Steve asks.

"Save the rest for the turn, J," Tony says, ignoring us as JARVIS asks if he should try Miss Potts. "Might as well."

I suddenly realize I'm holding my breath, watching Tony's vitals for the tiniest change.

"Come on, Tony," I whisper. I hear Tasha make a similar statement as I watch Tony's vitals disappear from my screen- he's out of range. The mothership must be destroyed, thus cutting the signal to the armor keeping the aliens alive, because I can hear the Chitauri fall.

"Close it," Steve declares, and I bow my head.

Suddenly, there's a beep.

"Son of a gun," Steve says, sounding amused.

"He's unconscious!" I shout, realizing none of them can tell, "He's falling and he's unconscious! Somebody help him!"

"We've got him!" Steve shouts. "Is he breathing?" Steve asks a few heart rending seconds later.

"His heart is slowing, his breathing's pretty much stopped," I feel like _I _can't breathe.

"What do I do?" Steve asks me.

"I don't know!" I shout back, panicked.

Suddenly, through the comm, I hear the Hulk's roar.

I swear I jumped five feet.

"What the hell?" Tony's voice crackles over his comm. "What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me."

I'm giggling in relief as I hear Steve reply "We won."

"I'd like an alarm clock like that," I say, unable to contain my mirth. _We won, Phil_.

"Alright, hurray! Good job, guys. Ah- let's just not come in tomorrow, let's just- take a day. Have you ever tried Shawarma? There's a Shawarma joint about two blocks from here, I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."

"It's meat," I answer him, "All kinds of meat, roasted on a spit, shaved, and then put usually in a pita. It's- it's good."

"Sounds good to me," Tony replies. There's a pause as I faintly here Thor speak. "And then shawarma after."

"Arlie- where are you?" I hear my brother crackle over the comm.

"Tenth floor- no rush, take your time getting me- I could live here for days."

"Is there food?"

"No- but so much tech I won't even notice I'm hungry."

I hear him laugh.

"Let's get Loki," Tasha says. I groan.

"Do we haveta? I want to play with Tony's computers. Or eat shawarma."

"I'm coming to pick you up, munchkin."

"Shut up, bird brain."

My brother is in the doorway five minutes later and greeting Owl, who, for once, doesn't bother to wait for me to give the safe word, and just tackles my brother in his exuberance. I see my brother wince- he's definitely injured, then.

"So," I tease, "How was your team bonding exercise?"

He rolls his eyes at me, "Come on, munchkin- let's go arrest a demi-god."

"Eh- I figure I don't need to come," I say, hoping he doesn't notice my ankle has swollen to about three times its normal size.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Arlie-"

"Why do you think it was me? There were a whole ton of aliens running around who could've done something!"

"What's wrong with your ankle?" he sighs as he finally gets a look at it.

I shrug.

"Well," he turns around so his back is towards me and takes off his quiver. "Come on."

"No."

"Arlie- I'm not leaving you here."

"No!"

"What are you two fighting about?" Tasha says over the comm.

"Nothing!" we both reply in unison. She just sighs.

"Come on, I'll give you a piggy back ride up and then we're done."

"Clint," I whine.

"Arlie- I will just carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes if I have to."

"Fine," I say, knowing he actually will and that I'd rather not have that particular indignity heaped on me by Clint. "Bird brain," I add as a final insult as he begins carrying me away from Tony's tech.

"Munchkin," he replies.

When we arrive at the top of the tower where Loki lies unconscious, the rest of the team is already there. Tasha says nothing, Tony raises an eye, and Thor and Steve just look confused. Fortunately, Clint puts me down and we gather around the demi-god, waiting for him to wake up.

Loki groans and pulls himself up some steps before turning around to see us. My brother draws his bow and keeps Loki in his sights.

"If it's all the same to you," the Trickster god says with a small smile after looking us over, "I'll have that drink now."

The Hulk growls as I snort. Loki's eyes drift to me and he looks me over carefully. Clint's fingers twitch on the bowstring slightly and Owl growls.

"Ah," the god of mischief says, "So you're what he was hiding."

* * *

**April 17th, 2012 (Clint)**

My sister refuses blatantly to let me carry her anywhere again.

"Nope- one piggy back ride is my limit."

"Oh- so you're ankle isn't broken?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I notice Captain America looking over at as swiftly as I point out her injury.

I don't like that.

She just grins evilly at me, "Oh- don't think I didn't notice you messed up your knee."

Nat looks over at that and, just like that, I know I'm done for. I give my sister a glare but she just smirks at me.

"What happened to your knee?" Nat asks, suddenly coming to stand beside me.

"I crashed through a window," I mutter, trying not to let anyone else hear. Fortunately, Nat says nothing, merely moving to crouch beside Arlie and examine her ankle.

Thor, Stark, and Captain Rogers have restrained Loki when Stark turns back to the room.

"So," he says, "Shawarma?"

I look around- we're in a city of rubble, most of us with injuries, and we've just fought a battle against a never-ending storm of alien creatures.

"Sounds good to me," I say with a shrug. Arlie just snorts.

The restaurant we find is silent as soon as we get our food. Nat scoots forward in her chair so I can prop my leg up on part of it and, on the other side of her, Arlie does the same with her foot while Owl waits under the table for scraps. Captain Rogers is practically asleep in his seat and Thor is just chowing down. Even I'm impressed with how much the demi-god can eat. Both Stark and Banner seem tired but awake enough to continue eating. And Nat, of course, eats with her usual prim delicacy as she takes tiny Nat-sized bites and chews slowly before swallowing.

From seemingly nowhere, my sister throws a book at my head. I'm not sure where she got it or where she was keeping it, but I crack it open and begin to read. She knows me well, my kid sister.

"So," she says to the table at large, "How was the team building exercise?"

She's too awake right now- it's just not fair.

Arlie gets a few murmurs and mutterings and she grins as she looks around the table. I wonder what she's seeing that's so wonderful, so I take a look around. I'm still not getting it though, so I send her a questioning look.

"The Avengers," she mouths at me.

Oh- I get it.

Phil would be proud.

* * *

**April 18th, 2012 (Arlie)**

We're standing outside the Shawarma restaurant (and let's have a round of applause for the owner, who not only stayed open through an alien invasion, but provided us with some damn good shawarma) when I see it.

"Well, crap," I say. Captain America (and that's _still_ weird to see Steve that way) turns to look at me with confusion. I point towards what caused my comment. "That's my apartment complex. I'll have to crash with Clint now. And I _don't_ think insurance covers "act of Norse god.""

"You all can always stay at Stark Towers," Tony jumps in.

"Seriously?" I turn and ask for confirmation, "Can I play with your tech?"

He smirks, "Mitnick, you can _make_ my tech. How would you like a job at Stark industries? I'm thinking head of the tech development department."

"About time you got a promotion," my brother chimes in, throwing his arm around my shoulders as we walk away.

"Where are we going now anyways?" I ask, looking around.

"Hm," Tony asks, looking around, "Where _do_ we go now?"

I just laugh.

* * *

**April 19, 2012 (Steve)**

Arlie sits beside me in SHIELD's New York base as we wait for the rest of the team to finish cleaning themselves up and gathering so we can debrief and then go sleep.

"So- is it after?" she asks with a nervous grin.

I nod. I'm exhausted and so is she, I'm sure, we've both just helped save the word with a team of rag-tag misfits and Owl is currently conked out on lying on my feet. It's not the perfect time for an emotional discussion, but I don't think we should put it off, either. Mostly because there is probably never going to be a perfect time with the way our lives are going.

We both bite our lips and shift a little in our seats; clearly neither of us is sure where to start. Arlie takes a deep breath and dives right in.

"I can understand why you'd be angry with me. I'm not sure what to do to fix it, however. I'm not sure if you want an explaination, or if you just want me to tell you more about myself so you feel like we're on more equal footing, but you have to understand- I love my brother. And I don't trust easily. There's a…whole slew of reasons why I don't, but it boils down to this: I don't trust easily. I usually wait for Clint to trust someone before I do because I trust his judgment more than mine. Again- there's a whole list of reasons for that.

"When Phil first suggested I be introduced to you, it was because, originally, Tasha had pointed out that I had really helped her adjust when she joined SHIELD. Phil thought I might be able to help you, and I agreed to try. I thought you deserved as much help as you could get, if you wanted it. I didn't have any sort of plan to help you- I was just going to talk with you, explain a few cultural differences, maybe help you catch up on current events. Clint is- if you couldn't tell- massively paranoid about my safety. He calls it protective. Either way, his condition was that I go by Kansas in order to keep my identity, and connection to him, safe."

"But why?" I interrupt, "What was he so worried my knowing your name would do?"

She shrugged, "Honestly, I don't even begin to try and understand it. Clint didn't want SHIELD knowing about me at all, and you were connected to SHIELD. Fury only found out about me by tracking Clint down one day. Even then, it was unofficial and Phil managed to convince him to keep it that way," she pauses here, and I pretend not to notice how she rubs her hands together slightly. "For a better explaination, you'd have to ask Tasha."

"Agent Romanoff?" I ask.

Kansas- Arlie nods. "She understands Clint better than he does ninety nine percent of the time, so if you want something you can comprehend, she's your best bet."

"You told me about your family one day- were they?"

"Yeah- Tasha's Clint's "girlfriend," and don't tell them I call her that- only Phil knew and he found it as funny as I do. Either way, I don't want two assassins mad at me. Clint brought her in to SHIELD, oh…must've been about five years ago now. Anyways, they're…impossible to describe, really. I don't think you can really put a label on what they've got going on between them, but Tasha's family because of it. Phil- Phil was the one to save Clint twelve years ago, and Clint found me about five years later."

"Saved him?"

She shifts uncomfortable, "I _am_ trying to be honest here- but that's Clint's story," she looks so sincerely apologetic that I immediately back off the topic.

"Is this helping at all?" she asks softly, looking back down at her hands.

"I don't know," I admit, "I still feel…betrayed, I guess," she winces at the term, but I continue on. Because honest is what we're working towards here, "I want to trust you and be friends. But I was friends with "Kansas" and she seems to have disappeared."

"I am Kansas," she replies, "I told you that name was given to me by my brother, right? Well, it was. I never lied to you, Steve, but I did keep things from you. It wasn't because I didn't…" she sighs, "I didn't trust you," she tries again, "And I'm sorry that makes you feel uncomfortable. But it takes a lot for me to trust. I can count the number of people I trust on one hand and still have fingers left over. I think I could trust you. But I need Clint with me on this, and I'm not quite sure how to explain it."

"I think we need to cool off," I tell her, "We can't jump back to where we were, but we can start over, I think."

She gives me a sad grin at that, "hello," she says softly, holding out her hand to me, "My name is Arlie. What's yours?"

I take her hand and shake it, "Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve."

Thor walks in at that moment and sits across from Arlie. She turns and examines him, her eyebrows pinching together.

"Thor?" she questions quietly. The blonde demi-god looks up at her.

"Ah- My Lady Barton, my apologies. Did you say something?"

She shakes her head, "I know you're not alright, but do you think you will be?"

He gives her a smile as sad as the one she had just given me not five minutes ago, "I think I shall, Lady Barton. I thank you for your concern. It is most comforting to have."

She shrugs, "Like I said earlier, I know what it's like to have a brother who does bad things sometimes."

Thor sighs, "Aye- but has your brother the archer ever done something on this scale?"

She is quiet for a moment, then replies with a heaviness in the air, "You'd be surprised. But something tells me that's not what's bothering you."

Thor looks at her carefully, "Your eyesight is keen. Indeed, I was thinking on another matter."

She gives a mischeiveous smile, "A matter like Jane Foster?" the god looks thunderstruck, "My brother was in New Mexico, guarding your hammer, when you last visited. He might have mentioned a pretty scientist who took you in and helped you. I put two and two together and got four."

"I do not understand," he replied, "What does the Lady Jane have to do with mathematics?"

Arlie giggles a little, "Nothing. It's a saying- meaning I took what I knew and inferred the rest. Will you be able to see her before heading back to Asgard?"

"It would not seem so," he sighs again, "And there is no way to tell if I shall ever see her again."

I'm looking back and forth between Arlie and the god, trying to hide my amazement. It was literally yesterday when she was helping us fight for all of New York City, it was the day before that when her brother was still under Loki's control, and she sits here helping a Thunder God, who she just met, might have talked to for no more than ten minutes total, figure out his love life.

"Yeah," comes a voice from my left, and I turn to realize Agent Romanoff has entered the room so quietly that none of us had noticed, "She does that." But the Agent has a slight quirk to her lips that seems to convey a level of pride and love for the girl who is currently telling Thor to have Selvig pass on a message to this Jane Foster and helping him to decide what to say.

The next to enter the room is Tony, who collapses on the other side of Thor and leans back into his chair to stare at the ceiling. Arlie's finished her discussion with the demi-god, sensing, probably, that he did not wish to speak of his love in front of quite so many people (or perhaps just Tony Stark). She turns to Stark and lightly kicks at his shin.

"Oi. When do I get my own JARVIS? And, more importantly, what are we going to name it?"

"I was thinking JARVIS Jr. to be honest," he replies, giving her a tired, but genuine, smile.

She wrinkles her nose, "Um, no. How about GLINDA- Girl's Latest Innovative Necessary Deductive Apparatus?"

"Did you just make that up?"

"Yes."

Tony shrugs, "Needs some work."

Agent Barton walks in with Dr. Banner and takes a quick look at Agent Romanoff, she gives a barely perceptible nod and he moves to sit beside his sister. Dr. Banner looks slightly uncomfortable until Arlie waves him in and has him sit next to Tony across from her brother.

"How are you feeling?" she asks the Doctor and Bruce gives her a tight smile.

"Alright." She nods and doesn't press further, but turns to her brother. They seem to have a conversation without words, because the next thing we all know, she's curled up next to him and falling asleep.

He looks around me to Agent Romanoff and says softly, "When was the last time?"

Agent Romanoff shrugs, "I'm assuming seven days ago."

"She hasn't slept in seven days?" I ask, looking between the two assassins. Agent Barton's face is carefully blank, not giving anything away but a stern examination of me. I suddenly realize that Kansas- Arlie maybe willing to let the world burn for her brother, but he will do much worse for her: he'd let her burn if she asked him to. Agent Romanoff answers me.

"That's when I called her."

"Tasha?" Agent Barton asks, turning his gaze from me to the red head.

"I'm still good."

He nods, reluctantly, but looks down at his sister. He's trying to get a better look at her ankle when Fury comes in for the debrief. One look at Agents Barton and Romanoff convince him to do so very very quietly, and it's only ten minutes later that the archer is picking up Arlie in an attempt to keep her from waking.

"Her apartment's not an option," Agent Romanoff says softly as Owl also stands to follow the family out.

"We'll figure something out, Nat," I hear Agent Barton reply as they walk away.

"So," Tony claps a hand on my back, "Have you two gotten over your lover's quarrel yet or we still got a feud going on?"

I roll my eyes and go to my SHIELD bunk- I haven't got the energy for dealing with Stark right now.

* * *

**May 4th, 2012 (Natasha)**

Dr. Banner is pretty quiet in the backseat as we drive to see off Thor. He's going to be staying with Stark now, though, so they- I think- will match each other well. Perhaps Bruce can help Pepper keep Stark in line a bit.

We exit the car and walk up- arriving at the same time as everyone else. Except Arlie, who Clint's scanning the area for. Everyone gathers around Thor and Loki and we begin to say our goodbyes. Finally, we hear a familiar bark.

We all turn to see Arlie walking towards us, Owl by her side, in a pale blue sundress and a smile.

"Sorry I'm late," she calls out, "But you will not _believe_ what just happened!" I raise an eyebrow. "I met this guy," she makes a face suddenly and I turn to see Clint's expression of extreme dislike. He looks like he swallowed a lemon. So does Captain Rogers. I wonder if Clint has noticed.

"Not like _that_, bird brain," she rolls her eyes, "He had a cart and was selling _rubble_. Said they were historic suveniors of the "Battle of New York." I think some pieces of my apartment were in there."

"Really?" I ask.

"No," she answers with a shake of her head and a smile, "But that would've been extra weird, right?" Arlie's standing before us now, and gives Thor a sunny smile. "One second."

She pivots slightly and punches Loki across the face.

"That's for my family," she says coldly before turning back to Thor with a sunny smile, "I'll miss you, OK? Visit soon as you can and I'll make sure Jane gets your message," she tilts her head towards Dr. Selvig, "Guys never do romance right." She reaches up and gives the Thunder God a hug and Clint and I exchange a glance.

Only Arlie.

Thor hugs her back and then, as she steps away, hoists up the Tesseract and frowns at his brother as Loki takes a hold of it. I lean over to Clint to whisper in his ear.

"What do Fury and Loki have in common?" I whisper.

Clint smiles and glances at Arlie.

With a twist of a handle, the Asgardians are surrounded in blue energy and they disappear.

I go back to the car to get Dr. Banner's bag as Arlie turns to the scientist and begins to talk with him. He was quiet in the carride, but he becomes more animated as he discusses whatever it is they are talking about. I notice Steve and Stark shaking hands as Clint gets to the driver's side of the car. Arlie gives Dr. Banner a kiss on the cheek, hugs Stark, and then has an awkward handshake with Captain Rogers before returning to our own car. She climbs into the back with Owl and Clint starts the engine.

"So- we've got a month before we meet up with Stark again," he smiles, "Let's go to Tahiti."


	55. Interlude: Danse De La Fee

**So who wants a heaping ton of Clintasha?!**

**I do! **

**Anyways-this happened in my brain & it wouldn't let me work on anything else until I had gotten it out, so here we have the progression of Clintasha- all the moments we missed in the main story simply because I didn't think they didn't actually pertained.**

**Which, looking back, was stupid- but here they are!**

**Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

**December 13th, 2007 (Natasha)**

We're in Venice, on our first mission as partners, looking at our target while pretending to admire one of the canals when he tells me.

"I ran away to the circus when I was nine with my brother, Barney."

I turn and listen to him spin the strange tale of a boy who picked up a bow and shot a bullseye his first attempt. Of a circus filled with performers who became family and family who became traitors. I listen as he talks and say nothing, just absorbing everything he's willing to tell me. I'm quite certain it's not everything- he's not ready for that yet, but he tells me enough so I feel safer.

I know who holds my life in his hands.

* * *

**September 3rd, 2008 (Clint)**

I'm watching Nat through my sight as she waits for our mark to show up for their "date." She insisted on coming over an hour early so she could scope out the place properly and so she could decide how to make her entrance. When I told her she should just walk in the door she rolled her eyes at me and said that didn't draw the necessary attention.

Funny- always got mine.

Her voice crackles on the comm as we talk back and forth until she says, "I don't remember the fire."

I know instantly what she's talking about and I know just what she needs: she needs a response. Short, but something that lets her know you're still there.

"I remember the crash still."

"Is that one of your nightmares?"

"One of them."

She continues to talk over the comm as she tells me her life story. She's told me bits and pieces but now it's all spilling out to me over the radio waves and the crackle of electricity and, stupidly, I'm trying to remember if I checked the battery on my comm this morning because I do not want to miss a moment of this.

I know why she chose now, of course. She's been ready to tell me for about a week, but now we're on either side of a comm so she won't have to deal with any physical signs of emotion, she's working on a job so she can occupy her brain with something else as she lets her mouth run away with her tale, and she's got no one to listen but me.

I put in a response here and there, letting her know I'm with her and that I'm not judging her or, above all, pitying her. Her past is tragic, but she is not.

She is amazing.

* * *

**May 4th, 2009 (Natasha)**

We're in Norway freezing our asses off when he tells me.

"You know."

I turn and say nothing, because of course I know, and the only thing I don't know his why he's bringing it up now.

Then I realize: I'm not running away and I'm not hiding. He knows now is the time to bring it up because he knows me.

So I smile at him and he returns it and if his hand finds mine and wraps around it- well, my fingers were getting cold anyways.

* * *

**November 30th, 2009 (Clint)**

I've got Nat in my sight as I watch her seduce our mark so she can get him a little drunk and interrogate him without him realizing he ever gave anything away. I'm biting back jealousy, knowing it's pointless and a waste of time, but unable to keep my fingers from twitching when he slaps her ass.

He retreats to the bathroom momentarily and Nat's voice comes to me over the comms. Some words just for me, nothing I have to share.

"I know."

* * *

**August 8th, 2010 (Natasha)**

We're in Bolivia when he tells me.

"I love you."

He's bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder and I don't have anything to clean the wound with let alone bandage it. It hasn't hit a major artery, but he's bleeding out and I'm scared.

And he chooses _now_ to tell me. That говнюк. (Shit head)

The words are something for me to grab onto though, so I start making bandages out of whatever's handy and when he calls me MacGyver and I look confused, he only tells me I have another cultural factoid to learn.

He gets back to SHIELD though.

* * *

**November 18th, 2010 (Clint)**

I've tagged along with Nat as she goes to the ballet studio Arlie hooked her up with several birthdays ago now. I've brought paperwork to do after realizing with all the trainees around base these days, I'd have a hard time getting anything done.

Mostly because I'd be too tempted to terrorize them.

Nat's pretty unconcerned as she stretches and turns on the music while I settle down in one corner with my paperwork, fully prepared to get some work done.

But Nat's soon got my entire attention.

She's not dancing- she _is_ the music. And it really shouldn't come as a surprise, since she makes her living being things she's actually not.

I'm watching her so closely I can tell the exact moment she realizes I've abandoned my paperwork for watching her show. She continues to remain in her own world, though- a place I cannot follow, a place I don't want to follow because it's _hers_ and as much as she shares with me and I share with her, we each have places the other can't fully follow.

And that's good.

"What is this?" I ask softly as she continues through song after song without a pause.

"Tchaikovsky," she replies without breaking from her own world.

"And this in particular?"

"Danse De La Fée."

I wait a moment.

"Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," she eventually tells me.

"You're not a fairy," I say softly, but she still hears it.

"What am I, then?"

"You're real."

She actually stops, feet and arms coming down and resting as the music plays on. She's somewhere between her own world and the one we share as she looks at me with an expression I can't quite read- which is strange, since I can read almost all her expressions.

"Nat?" I question softly.

"I love you," she whispers, softer than the music that is now fading away on the stereo.

I just smile at her, and as the next song begins to play, her arms and feet go back into position and she continues to dance.

But this time, I can follow her a little bit closer to her world: not to join, but to watch as she becomes music.


	56. Revived

**Sooooo...I don't have any more chapters written. Which means, I might not be able to update every day now, especially since we're now in uncharted territory after finishing up the Avengers. I hate to do this to you guys, but I quite simply only have about two interludes and this right now. **

**At any rate, here we've got a new chapter so please, read & review!**

* * *

**April 20th, 2012 (Natasha)**

Phil Coulson's funeral is small, but attended by everyone who matters. Nick Fury is there, and while Arlie hates him and Clint's feelings only really extend to a sort of respect, I appreciate the Director being there. He took a chance on Clint and me because Phil asked him to, and for that alone I would be forever grateful to the man. The Avengers also have all come- Stark has Pepper with him, and her face is wet with tears, while he seems to be struggling with his own. Thor is trying for stoic, but only manages deeply apologetic. He's blaming himself, clearly. Captain Rogers looks guilty as well, and he casts sorrow-filled glances at Arlie every two minutes or so. Dr. Banner is shuffling on his feet a little, having not spent much time with Phil, but clearly wanting to show a deep respect and appreciation for the man. Other than that, it's Hill, a few other Agents, and us.

Clint, Arlie, and I.

Phil's family.

Death is something I know. I am painfully, pitifully familiar with death. It's my art, my makeup, it's in my blood and death is my life. Sorrow. Grief. Those are things I have had a smaller experience with, and it's never been on this scale. The only thing I can compare it to is the mourning I went through when I realized the life I had thought I had had with Uncle Ivan proved to be a lie. I had grieved for that life, but even that was a smaller grief than this. For then, I only mourned for myself. Now it's got the added tragedy of Clint and Arlie's pain.

Clint stands between the two of us, Arlie clinging tightly to his hand, standing as close as she possibly can to her brother. Fearing, no doubt, that he will simply cease to be if she doesn't keep him beside her, with her, under her watchful eye at all times. Owl sits at their feet, eyes watching all in attendance, ready to attack anyone who might come too close to Arlie. The invasion had put the poor dog on edge, and he's still extra cautious around those he is unfamiliar with now.

I stand a small distance on Clint's other side, solidly offering support if needed, but unable to give it until necessarily. It's not my nature, no matter how I feel it might help Clint if I could be more expressive. However, Clint is Clint, and that means he takes what I can give and, for him, it is enough. Anyone else would ask me for more, but Clint accepts what I am and does more than that- treasures it.

The graveyard is quiet as a minister talks to the assembled group, and then, one by one, people begin to place flowers on the coffin.

Everyone places some deep red roses that the funeral director had handed out before, and I watch as each person walks away from the coffin. Stark seems to have a look of pure respect on his face as he steps back to stand beside Pepper, and Banner seems sorrowful but with a sort of peace that comes with acceptance. He hadn't known Phil all that well, and I think he was here more for Tony and Arlie than anything else. The Thunder God has added something to his flowers- some asphodel. He bows his head slightly before backing away, and Fury's one eye burns with determination.

I wonder what he's thinking.

It's my turn now, and I walk up to the coffin to place some Bluebells. I had decided that I didn't want to just leave Coulson's grave with some generic flower- I wanted it to be something that meant more, something unique. This was the man who had helped make Clint and Arlie who they were, and they helped make me who I am. I owed this man everything.

Instead of backing away, I turn slightly by the side of the grave to watch the Barton siblings approach.

Arlie's got tears streaming down her face, and Clint's eyes are more than damp. However, both hold their heads high (as Phil taught them to face the world) and if their knuckles are white from the grip they have on each other, no one comments. The graveyard is in complete silence, and I look up to see the palest blue sky I've ever seen in April in New York. Two ravens fly in a quick circle above the grave, then rest in a nearby tree.

That's odd.

I turn back to Arlie and Clint to see Arlie straightening the flowers already on Phil's coffin before adding magnolia blossoms herself. She sniffles a little and fiddles with the flowers until her brother places his hand on her shoulder, then she stands still and bites her lip as he leans over to add red carnations. Both stand there for a moment as the entire cemetery seems to hold its breath, before they back away a few steps and the minister speaks as the coffin is lowered into the ground.

The marker is simple, but its words are much more.

_Phil Coulson_

_July 4, 1960- April 16, 2012_

_He Had Conviction_

* * *

**April 20th, 2012 (Arlie)**

The funeral was…brutal. I'm fairly certain that both Clint and Tasha would agree with me when I say that I'd rather go through the invasion again than that funeral. Owl woofs softly, drawing me out of my thoughts as Fury approaches us.

I'm too tired to even hate him. God, I've reached a new low.

"I'd like to discuss with you the Avengers Initiative," he prefaces with, and I just sigh and lay my head down on the back of the chair I'm currently sitting in. Clint just rubs his eyes slightly and Tasha gives Fury her attention before asking the Director of SHIELD:

"For what reason? And shouldn't you be taking this up with the Avengers themselves?"

"I am, Agent."

We're silent for a moment or two as I wait for Clint and Tasha to connect the dots. I know it'll take them a while, simply because they don't see themselves that way- but Phil and I always had seen them as heroes, and so it seems like the simplest logic that Hawkeye and the Black Widow would be on the list for the Avengers Initiative, though Phil never breathed a word.

"Director?" Tasha asks. Fury sighs stormily before explaining to her.

"Phil Coulson was the man behind the Initiative, as I'm sure you know. He created the list of people he wanted on the team, and I didn't question it. Much. Either way, he was adamant that the two of you be on it. You're Avengers, Agents."

With that, Fury walks away as Clint and Tasha look at each other in a bit of shock.

"Duh," I sigh as I try to get more comfortable in the chair.

* * *

**April 23, 2012 (Natasha)**

"Agent Romanoff, a word?"

Director Fury ushers me into his office while I try to figure out what this is about. We've already finalized the decisions regarding Loki, the Tesseract, and he's told both Clint and I that we are on leave for as long as we'd like. I'm not quite sure why he'd call me into his office as I'm about to leave SHIELD for an undecided amount of time (my time on leave will depend a lot on how much time Clint takes, and both of ours will also depend on Arlie).

"Director Fury?" I ask, sitting down.

"I'd like to have you talk to Agent Barton and Kansas about something."

"What?"

"Phil Coulson being revived."

I pause and think. I count to ten in Russian before I speak again.

"Explain."

* * *

**May 10th, 2012 (Clint)**

I still don't like Arlie being on SHIELD's paperwork, and the fact that Fury uses it as an excuse to attempt to hire my sister or have her help SHIELD whenever he can. However, not having to sneak her in to see Phil is a plus.

She's clinging tightly to my hand right now as she sits beside me. Phil's hooked up to all sorts of machines and wires and there's a lot of beeping and other mechanical noises as they monitor the man who is our father in all the ways that count. I don't know about Arlie, but I'm afraid to go too near him and accidentally mess something up. It's still not certain he'll wake up and be OK, and the fact it looks like he's halfway to a cyborg is frightening.

Nat walks into the room and hands me a cup of coffee, sitting beside me with her own. She sighs softly and looks over Phil carefully, as if to assess if he had changed in the slightest in the five minutes she was gone.

"I hate waiting," Arlie whispers, her eyes entirely focused on Phil's face.

I give her a hum and squeeze her hand slightly.

"So, what they gave him," she says softly, as if Phil was just sleeping and she didn't want him to wake up, "It was from…well, it was alien, right?"

"It was extraterrestrial in origin, yes," Nat answers, not turning away from Phil either. None of us are taking our eyes off him if we can help it.

"So- what if it doesn't work right with terrestrials?"

"It'll work," I answer at the same time as Nat says, "Then we tried."

Arlie doesn't say anything after that.

Five minutes later she sighs and repeats, "I hate waiting."

"Why don't you call Jane Foster or something? You'd promised Thor you'd talk to her," Nat suggests, trying to stop my little sister's fidgeting.

"I don't want to leave the room, and it's not really a conversation you should have over a phone."

"Well, call someone else then," Nat sighs.

"I don't want to talk to anyone else."

"Then get used to waiting."

Arlie pouts, "I hate waiting."

I decide to intervene before it gets violent, "I know, munchkin, but just be patient."

She opens her mouth again but I cut her off, "You tell me you hate waiting one more time, munchkin, and I'm kicking you out of the room."

She begins to pout but one of the machines starts making a different sort of noise and then there are SHIELD doctors and nurses running in and fiddling with things and the three of us are shoved to the side and no one answers us as we ask what's going on.

Then, I hear a groan.

"Phil?" Arlie whispers, her face losing all color.

The doctors and nurses continue to work around us but we wait out the storm of activity until a doctor finally steps up to us.

"He's awake, conscious, but still slightly disoriented. We're running tests, but so far everything seems to be in order."

The three of us look at each other, not sure what to do next.

"You can go to him," the doctor prods us slightly, "But don't overwhelm him."

Arlie and Nat exchange a brief look before gently shoving me towards the bed where Phil is at. I look back at my sister, wondering if she shouldn't go see Phil first- she was with him when he died. But I see her eyes- she's overwhelmed, and right now she needs me to go first so she can pull herself together a little.

I take a few hesitant steps to the bed and drag a chair closer before sitting beside Phil.

"Phil? Phil- it's me. I'm back. So are you," I joke with a small chuckle, "We're all right here. It's OK."

"Clint?" Phil's voice rasps out, his eyes settle on me but they're foggy, like he's not quite awake yet. I doubt I appear as more than a blur to him.

"Yeah- who else would it be, Phil? Seriously- do you know anyone else this good looking?"

"Loki-" he rasps out next.

"Taken care of."

"Arlie."

"Right here. She's fine. Well, she broke her ankle and cracked her…well, it's her elbow, but the docs keep calling it an Olecranon Fracture. But she's ok."

"So. I guess we won, then. Did I miss all the good stuff?"

Nat comes to the other side of Phil and settles herself on the bed near his legs, "Yes, you missed Arlie punching Loki the same way she punched Fury."

Phil gives a weak chuckle, "She's a spitfire."

"Totally crazy," I reply, taking a glance back at Arlie. She's pulled herself mostly together, and so I motion her towards the bed. "Here she is."

"Phil?" her voice is soft as she kneels beside Phil's bed. His head moves groggily towards her and one hand rises slightly. Arlie moves to grab it, but has to manover around a load of wires and tubes.

"Right here," he assures her.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I went a few rounds with the Hulk."

"That good, huh?" she quips. And Phil smiles at her.

"Sorry if I scared you," he tells her.

She waves her hand, "Please, takes a lot more than that, a Norse god, and an alien invasion to scare me."

"There was an alien invasion?"

"Oops.

"I wasn't supposed to mention that bit yet."

* * *

**May 14th, 2012 (Arlie)**

Phil's sitting up in the biggest, comfiest chair I could find on the SHIELD base and we're reviewing everything that's happened since he died and before he came back.

"So," I tell him, with a small grin, "I'm going to be making tech for Stark Industries. I'm basically being paid to have fun. And Tony told us we all can stay in the Tower whenever we want. I think I can convince Clint and Tasha- point out that it would get them out of SHIELD. Plus, my apartment building was leveled so…they can't crash there anymore."

"They might find the lack of privacy a drawback."

I roll my eyes, "That's because they like to think they're so secretive. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"To us," Phil acknowledges, "But still, they are spies, Arlie, they're going to want that extra level of privacy and safety."

I hum noncommittally.

"But, then again," Phil says with a small smirk, "You've got both of them wrapped around your finger. If anyone could do it, you can."

I grin at him with a wink, "Any particular jobs you want me to do in New York?"

Phil chuckles, "How about you make sure the Avengers stays up and running? Don't let anyone know, of course, but-"

"Manage to make them into a family as well as a team?" I question.

"I think it would be for the best."

I sigh, "Phil, why not just ask me to convince Fury to take off his eye patch? It'd be easier."

He chuckles, but doesn't let up.

Looks like I've got a new project.

* * *

**So: fun little details. The flowers at the funeral each were chosen because of their meanings. Deep red roses are flowers for mourning. Bluebells (which Natasha used) mean humility, constancy, and gratitude- which I thought was pretty accurate for her feelings towards Phil. Arlie's Magnolias (which are super pretty by the way- my grandmother has a magnolia tree) mean nobility and perseverance, which I thought would be how she would describe Phil. Red Carnations (from Clint) mean admiration, or "my heart aches for you," which, really, speaks for itself.**

**Finally, Thor's added asphodel means "my regrets follow you to the grave." I figured Thor would feel pretty guilty, and he's pretty old-school, so I had him be the only Avenger to add in something. The other three were customized simply because of how close they were to Phil. **


	57. Interlude: Nightmares

**OK, guys- this is really all I have for you today. Sorry about that. But I'm hitting major writer's block on the next chapter and it's just not being nice to me. I'm not sure when it'll be ready, but it might have to be a few more days. Regardless, here's a little interlude of family fluff that was requested by someone who's penname I wrote down and then put in such a safe place I can no longer find it. They had mentioned potentially camping, but since I had already mentioned that in one of Phil's birthdays, I decided to go with the family pulling an all-nighter. I apologize that I can't put your name up here- you know who you are, and I wish I could remember! Either way, here is your family fluff interlude!**

**Also- side note- for all of you asking me about Agents of SHIELD (I have a lot of people asking me about this, so I thought I'd just put a response where everyone can see): I don't (sadly) watch the show, because school got in my way and I actually don't really watch any TV during the school year. So I know practically nothing about Agents of SHIELD, which means- if it were to be incorporated into Reliant, it would be in a very minor way. **

* * *

**September 17th, 2010 (Clint)**

I can't sleep. Nat's curled up next to me and she's, for once, not having any nightmares and neither am I, but my cracked ribs are stinging and I can't sleep.

Arlie's going to tell me it's my own damn fault for not taking the pain meds before bed.

Nat'll just give me that look.

And Phil would probably hand me the meds and say nothing.

Phil it is, then.

I crawl out of bed slowly in an attempt to let Nat keep sleeping but there's small chance of her sleeping through any sort of noise or movement- we've both been assassins too long for that. So her eyes pop open as I'm almost at the door and I can practically see her grabbing the gun she keeps under her pillow.

"Just me, Nat," I whisper, "Go back to sleep."

Nat, of course, ignores me and sits up, "Why are you awake?" I give her a sheepish grin, not really wanting to answer that. Even in the dark of the bedroom, I can see her roll her eyes when she figures it out anyways. And then she gives me that look. Not the nice one, but the one she gives me when she thinks I'm a идиот. (idiot)

I just shrug and continue on my way out to the kitchen where I'm pretty sure Arlie left the pain meds on the counter. Maybe I'll crash on the couch with Phil and watch a movie or something- no way will he sleep through me coming in and getting water and the pills. He sleeps almost as light as me and Nat.

However, when I reach the living room I find that my sister and Phil are both sitting on the couch flipping through tv channels. Phil hears me first and turns around.

"Hey," he says, looking me over, "What are you doing up?"

I shrug, "Couldn't sleep."

"It's your own damn fault," Arlie sing-songs without turning her head from the muted TV, "You should've taken the pain meds before bed." However, Phil stands up and goes to the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room and grabs the bottle of pills. I walk over as he pours a glass of water and guiltily take my medicine.

"Now," I sigh as I settle down on the couch next to my sister, "Why are you awake?"

She gives me that little shrug she does when she's slightly uncomfortable- torn between wanting to talk and wanting to remain quiet about whatever is bugging her. Phil and I exchange a glance above her head. For times like these, it's best to distract Arlie with something and then sneak in a few questions here and there before she tells you what's on her mind.

"What is this crap?" I ask, gesturing to the television.

"You try finding something good on at three in the morning with the sound off so two assassins who couldn't sleep through a fly buzzing two rooms away can get their rest," my sister retorts.

"Well, I'm not watching this with you two," Phil says, turning off the TV and getting up off the couch, "You're both cranky- so here, let's find something other than tv to occupy you," he starts going through some of Arlie's closets and drawers as the two of us slump together on the couch (after sticking our tongues out at each other- Arlie started it).

"Ah-ha," he says, pulling out something from the back of Arlie's closet and holding it in front of us in the dim 3 am light.

"I own board games?" Arlie asks, looking confused.

"You own Sorry?" I question.

"Come on, help me set it up," Phil tells us, ignoring our rolled eyes and slow movements. "I used to play this game all the time with my grandfather," he begins to tell us, and Arlie and I perk up- we love Phil's stories, "and he was _good_ at this game. But he wasn't one of those adults who would let you win when you're a little kid, so he was constantly beating me. I used to get so frustrated with it, that one day I got some paint and turned all the pieces yellow- which was the color I always used. I figured, that way, I just got all the pieces in my home and Granddad wouldn't have anything to Sorry me _with_. My dad was so angry with me, because that meant we would have to buy a new game, but my granddad, he just laughed and said it was good thinking on my part. Still, it wasn't until I was almost eleven that I actually won a game of sorry against him without any tricks." Arlie gives a small giggle at the story and I smile.

"So I guess Phil gets the yellow piece," Arlie teases a little, "I'll take blue," she says, snatching the blue pieces before I can grab them. We always used to fight over who got to be blue when we were little.

"Fine," I sigh, "I'll be green, then."

"I guess that leaves red for me?" Nat says, stepping into the room from the dark hallway. She gives us a small smile and then sits down on the floor between me and Arlie.

"Hey- couldn't go you back to sleep?" I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist. She shakes her head slightly.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long so I came to investigate and I found you hadn't invited me to the slumber party," she teases, "I'm hurt."

"We need more snack food for it to be a sleepover," Arlie chimes in, then dashes off to the kitchen. When she returns she's got sodas, a beer for Phil, chips, popcorn, and some candy.

"There," I say, gesturing around, "Now we just need some sleeping bags." Phil rolls his eyes and tosses the pillows from the couch into my face.

"That's the closest you're getting," he lectures me. "Now, let's start the game."

"I've never played this before," Nat admits, shifting a little where she sits.

"It's ok- it's pretty basic stuff, the directions should be in the box or you can have bird brain attempt to teach you. But warning: he's a sore loser."

Nat snags the directions and gives Arlie a grin, "Trust me, I've noticed."

"Hey- I'm in the room!" I protest as Phil shuffles the cards a bit before putting them in the center of the board.

"Imagine what we say when you're not," Arlie retorts.

"I shudder to think," I reply, heavy on the sarcasm.

"If you two don't stop bickering, we won't play this game," Phil warns.

"He started it," Arlie mumbles under her breath. Phil gives her a look and she rolls the die to see who goes first.

Despite Phil's warning, Arlie and I continue to bicker back and forth while we play the game. It's hard to tell who is in the lead- but I think Phil's winning because Arlie and I are so focused on taking out each other. I can see Arlie relaxing and decide to push a little to see what's got her up tonight.

"So how long have you been up now anyways?" I ask her as I push one of her pieces back to Start.

She gives a little shrug and replies, "Maybe three hours? I'm not really sure."

"Did something wake you up?"

She's distracted by Phil's next move so she replies without thinking, "I just had a nightmare."

I know my sister, and I know there is nothing "just" about nightmares.

"Which one?" I ask softly to her, keeping my eyes on the board as she makes her move, shoving one of my pieces to the side.

"Mr. Buchan was taking me away," she whispers. Mr. Buchan was one of Arlie's social workers, and he often took her away from the nicer homes for one reason or another. Arlie will sometimes have dreams that he comes and takes her away from us. Suddenly, I wish I had picked red so I could be sitting next to my sister as we play this game, but Phil and Nat both know how to help her, and so they move slightly closer to Arlie. Not close enough to be really noticeable or stifling, but enough to remind her that she is surrounded by us and we aren't letting her go anywhere anytime soon.

As far as nightmares go, I know Mr. Buchan is one of the worst for Arlie, but as far as actual people go, he was one of the better ones my sister was in the care of while I was gone.

There's irony for you.

"I win," Nat declares as she slides her final piece home a few moments later.

"What?" I say, looking at the board. "Where did that come from? I didn't even realize you had pieces at home!"

"Oh, Tasha," Arlie says with a sleepy smirk, "That was sneaky." Arlie's leaning up against the red head, practically asleep for the past few turns of Sorry.

Phil chuckles softly, "So- do we want to play another round?"

Arlie yawns broadly and nods even as her eyes droop. Phil and I exchange a glance- Arlie's avoiding dreaming tonight, for fear of another nightmare. I know the feeling, so we humor her.

"You got anything besides Sorry?" I ask, getting up to examine her closet where Phil first found the board game.

"I didn't even know I had that," she tells me as she watches Phil and Nat clear up the board. Nat hands her the bag of M&M's and she perks up slightly.

"We could always play something with a deck of cards," I say, pulling one out of a junk drawer in Arlie's desk.

"War?" questions Nat.

Arlie quickly shoots down that idea, "No fair- I am not nearly awake enough to do something like War."

"Here, we'll play Old Maid, do you remember how to, Arlie?" I ask, sitting down beside her.

She rolls her eyes, "Of course I remember, bird brain. We only played it about a thousand and two times."

"Which, you know," Phil says to Nat, "Is significantly different from the effect of only playing it a thousand and one times."

By the third round, Arlie's eyes are pretty much closed and she's struggling not to fall asleep against my shoulder. Nat and I exchange a glance, and she subtly slides the cards out of Arlie's hands while Phil starts to clean up. I pick up my sister and carry her into her bed, tucking her in.

"She'll be out like a light," I whisper to Nat as I shut Arlie's door behind me.

Nat nods, "She's deeply asleep, I don't think she'll have any dreams."

We both say goodnight to Phil and then go off to our own room, my arm around Nat's shoulders. She's wonderful, I think, she just spent the whole night up so my sister wasn't alone after having a nightmare. One of the few nights Nat was able to sleep peacefully, and she sacrificed it for Arlie. I press my lips into her hair and she gives me a small smile. She knows what I'm thinking, of course. She's Nat- she always knows.

The next morning, we all sleep to noon and not a single one of us had nightmares.


	58. Who Leaves the Circus?

**Wow, guys- I am super sorry it took so long to get you the next chapter, but I was hit with some serious writer's block that just would not go away. Plus I've been a bit busy with work & all- but here it is!**

**I'm afraid I'm leaving you with a bit of a cliffhanger, and I haven't actually finished the next chapter yet so no telling when that'll be done. **

**But I have started it!**

**Anyways, big thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, ect. You're amazing & please: keep reviewing!**

* * *

**June 4th, 2012 (Arlie)**

"That's…really tall," I say as I look up at the new Stark Tower.

"You sure about this, munchkin?" Clint asks for what is possibly the thousand and first time, "I mean- we can look for a new apartment for you if-"

I cut him off, "No, bird brain, I'm going to work here and it's super convenient to live here as well. You know how impossible it is to find an apartment in New York, and I'm definitely _not_ staying with SHIELD. You can check on me whenever you want, and if you're really so worried you know you can just stay here, too? You and Tasha can keep an eye on me."

Clint hems and haws and Tasha and I exchange a glance- my brother and I have been having this conversation for the past month, and it always ends the same way.

"Alright- but I still think you should get your own place."

We enter the tall building and see the bustling lobby filled with various employees and associates of the company. Stepping up to the main desk, I give a smile to the receptionist.

"Hi- I'm Arlie Barton, I'm here to see Tony Stark," the receptionist casts a glance at me, and then another at Owl, my brother, and Tasha, who stand behind me with some of my bags. However, she says nothing, merely looking down at a list she's got before finally replying.

"Yes- Miss Barton. I see, just go to the third elevator there, and take it to the tenth floor."

"Thanks," I say, and grab some of my stuff. The rest should already have been moved in, courtesy of Tony's girlfriend and CEO, Pepper, who I've chatted with several times on the phone. She seemed very nice, and Tasha had good things to say about her.

In general.

The elevator buttons make me laugh. Trust Tony to get creative with them. Having let the elevator scan my thumbprint to enter the lift, I hold the doors for Tasha and Clint, both who roll their eyes at the buttons.

Most of them are just ordinary numbers, but there are several with pictures instead- an arc reactor, a green fist, a bow and arrow, a spider, one that was decorated with code that reminded me of the Matrix, a couch, a weight lift, and a beaker all designated various floors.

It was pretty self-explanatory, I thought, and so I pressed the couch button, assuming that would be the common area for us all.

"Ah- it's Mitnik and Legolas! And Natashalie- you look extra frightening today," Tony shouts when we walk off the elevator. He's in a large room with big windows overlooking the city. There's a couch, a massive TV, a bar, and what looks to be a doorway leading to a kitchen.

"If you really want to compliment her, tell her she looks extra deadly," I tease, giving Tony a quick hug as a red head who I assume is Pepper walks into the room.

"Oh- you're here, hi- it's so nice to finally meet you. Well, not over the phone I mean," she says warmly as we shake hands.

"I getcha, and it's super nice to meet you," I smile at the woman. She grins back and then turns to introduce herself to my brother and greet Natasha. Pepper's a little awkward with Tasha, but then, most people are, and Tony turns back to me.

"So, you and Lassie want to go check out the lab? I've got some nifty stuff going on and I've pretty sure that's where Brucie is right now. We can leave the grown-ups to talk," he gives me an energetic smile and I turn to my brother, who rolls his eyes.

"Go- play with the genius, but don't forget to stop and eat once in a while, OK?"

"Bye!" I shout, racing after Tony to the elevator, where we both slam our hands on the button with the beaker. I can hear Tasha chuckling as the doors close.

* * *

**July 17th, 2012 **

Things have settled into somewhat of a routine at Stark Tower. Or, as much of a routine as you can get with people like us all living under one roof. We must drive Pepper crazy, if Tony hasn't single-handedly done it already.

Clint's still a bit withdrawn from the team members, and whenever Steve joins in (he moved into his own floor- marked with an elevator button designed like his shield- about a week after me) he has a tendency of eyeing the poor man like he's going to be Clint's next interrogation subject.

Tasha's herself, which means she is willing to work with the others, but only Clint and I get to call her Tasha. Tony tried to once and she leveled one of her Black Widow glares at him.

He hasn't tried since.

I'm a bit put off by it, since Phil told me to get the Avengers acting like a family. I'm not trying to make them into one, big, happy family. I'm just aiming for one, smallish, extremely dysfunctional family. Those are more entertaining anyways.

But the fact that it's the people who have been my family for years already who are holding me up is a point of frustration. I mean, the others were fairly easy: Tony only needed two things- to be his usual self, and have Pepper invested in everyone. Once I got Pepper planning girl's nights with me and making sure everyone's favorite foods were on the grocery list, I had Tony and her as members of the family. They were easy.

Bruce took a little more persuading and a lot more finesse. He was shy and smart, and unsure if he deserved a family. He was worried about unleashing the Hulk on us all one day. However, after making sure he spent plenty of time with me and Tony in the lab, then letting Pepper fuss over him in her most CEO-like (read: motherly) tone, he was beginning to relax and realize that the Hulk only went after what hurt him- and the Hulk would not let anyone hurt us now, not even the green monster himself. So Bruce was a quiet, but nonetheless solid, member of the family.

Steve I haven't even attempted yet- it's still too awkward, what with everything (plus extra on my part since Phil told me not to tell any of the Avengers he was still alive- he made me swear it on his Captain America cards, actually). And the fact that bird brain keeps glaring at the super soldier does _not_ help. Either way, at the rate Clint and Tasha are going, I'll never even have the chance to attempt to get Steve on board.

Clint and Tasha are family, no doubt, but they aren't Tony or Bruce or Pepper's family. They're just mine. The others haven't actually even realized the full extent of the relationship between my brother and the Russian yet. Pepper, I think, is a tad jealous still of Tasha as a sort of after-effect of Natalie. Tony, who had been betrayed several times by those he thought he could trust, still didn't fully believe her. Bruce had accepted her, mostly, I think, out of guilt because of the Hulk battle on the hellicarrier. Steve was able to work with her, but still considered her greatly as an extension of me, and thus: awkward.

And Clint. God, Clint. They all are completely unsure how to act around my brother. He was mind-controlled in the most invasive, horrible way, and he still has horrifying nightmares about things before that experience on top of it. He'll often sneak down to my floor in the middle of the night to check on me, and more and more often he's walking out to the roof by himself, for fear that Loki's still in there and he'll hurt someone if he gets too close. The others might not know this (with the obvious exception of Tasha, who is in the best position to know what Clint's going through, and has been helping me to help him since he came back to us) but they can sense it. The despair and confusion and hurt practically rolls off my brother in waves at times, before he plasters on a mask and shuts everything down cold. It's bad enough for me and Tasha, it's utterly bewildering to the others.

There's a creak as my apartment door opens and I know it's Clint. He's had a nightmare about the crash again, obviously, and he's coming to make sure I'm really alright. I wonder, how vivid must his dreams be that he is never really sure that all that's happened since then is true? How strong must those nightmares be to make him question this reality? I get up out of bed and Owl whines softly. He's not on guard duty right now, having been given no orders to protect me since we're in the Tower, but he had woken up and was on immediate alert when he heard the door open.

"It's ok, boy," I whisper, with a pat to my dog's head. He gives me a soft woof and then goes back to sleep. I make my way into my living room and see Clint, obviously having heard me get up, sitting on the arm of my couch looking in my direction, hands clasped in front of him.

"Sorry," he whispers, giving me a fake smirk. I reach out and smack him lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't "sorry" me, and don't even try to fake smile- you know better. You never need to say sorry, not to me," I settle down on the couch and grab the remote. "You wanna find a channel that's not in English and give it hilarious and inaccurate subtitles?"

He gives a genuine, if small, smile at that and sits beside me with a nod. I start flipping through the channels and if he glances over to check on me frequently, I say nothing, just sliding closer so my shoulder is up against his.

In a half an hour, I manage to get him to chuckle after a particularly silly translation on my part and he sighs.

"It wasn't the crash," he confesses to me. I look over at him, muting the television and trying to understand. The only nightmare that has ever, to my knowledge, come to check on me like this is the crash, so I'm not sure how to respond here.

"It was Barney," he whispers after seeing my confused face.

It's difficult for me to talk about Barney. On the one hand, I desperately want to forgive him and have him come back so the three of us can be together. He's one of my parent's children, and the eldest, so he'd have the most memories of mom and dad. Clint's got more than me, but they've been faded and he doesn't like to talk about them out of shame- shame he's not worthy of the memories. I've got practically none. On the other hand, what he did to Clint was so vile, so disturbing, that if he were to show up before me now I'd scream and sick Owl on him and tell him, in no uncertain terms, to never come in my sight again. A small part of me informs me that if I can forgive Clint, and Tasha, of their pasts, then I should be able to forgive Barney as well.

Guess I'm just not quite that magnanimous.

Clint's sits beside me in silence, watching the conflicting emotions play over my face. Finally I settle on a gentle nudge to get my brother to open up more.

"What about Barney?"

"When he left the circus." When he left _me_ is an unspoken subtext in his words.

This, however, clarifies things for me, and is something I know how to deal with. Clint came down here to check on me, yes, but also to make sure his other sibling hadn't left him. Wouldn't leave him. I lean my head on Clint's shoulder, turning back to the TV.

"Who leaves the circus? It's the place where all the cool people go." Clint gives a sort of huff that's on its way to being a chuckle, and throws an arm around my shoulders, getting the message loud and clear.

"I don't know- the circus can be pretty tiring after a few days there."

"That's only for people with short attention spans. The circus is wonderful- all the lights and the animals and the people, it never really stays the same. Always something new to see and always something fun to do.

"Plus," I add after a pause, "There is something to be said for the practically limitless amounts of popcorn and cotton candy."

"You may have a point there, munchkin," Clint says, taking the remote from my hand and unmuting the TV.

"Of course I do, bird brain, now shut up- the show's just getting good."

* * *

**July 28th, 2012**

"OW!" I shout, having just electrocuted myself slightly. I shake my hand out off to the side and glare at the offending piece of technology that had given me the shock. "Bastard," I mutter towards it, popping my finger in my mouth and glaring at the machine.

"I think you're supposed to unplug it," I hear Steve's voice from the doorway and I turn around swiftly.

I give the super soldier a small grimace, "Well, that would be logical. And, I did…I think."

He gives me a small chuckle.

"What are you working on?" he asks after a few seconds of awkward silence. I give him a grin to let him know I appreciate the effort and then turn back to my current project.

"It's going to be my own AI- like JARVIS, but I'm calling it GLINDA so far," I give a slight shrug, "It might change. Anyway, the programing part should be the real challenge. Either way," I point over to a pile of stuff, "I've got plenty to work with here. Tony's essentially letting me do whatever I feel like and if I come up with something useful, he and I play with it until we decide it's ready for prototypes."

"So was this like your old job?"

I giggle, "No. Decidedly not. Here I'm working on creating, at my old job I was a mid-level programmer who produced someone else's work or sometimes I dabbled in maintenance."

At that moment, Clint enters the room and casts a look at Steve, eyeing him up and down with a frown. He then walks over to me and ruffles my hair before speaking.

"I've come down here to remind you to each lunch, munchkin."

"I'm not really hungry yet."

"You will be if you step away from the tech for five minutes. Tasha said you didn't eat breakfast," he gives me a look and I shrug.

"I wasn't hungry," but the excuse sounds weak and my brother just gives me a grin and turns to Steve, his face back into the look he has when he's sighting down an arrow. "Tony wanted me to tell both of you that we're having a movie group thing after everyone eats." Steve nods but says nothing.

As awkward as it is, in another situation it would be funny how intimidated by my brother the super soldier is.

As Clint leaves the room I look over at Steve. "Dude, you fought in World War II. You can handle my brother, don't be so chicken," I chuckle and follow Clint out, leaving Steve stammering behind me.

After lunch, everyone is sitting in the common area, watching Lord of the Rings (Clint keeps commenting on Orlando Bloom's archery and Tasha mocks their weaponry in general) when the phone rings. It's not one anyone really uses- the main phone. Everyone's got cell phones, but if the receptionist calls from downstairs it goes to the main phone. Bruce snags it as he's the one closest to it, and after a short conversation, holds it out to Clint.

"It's for you," he says mildly. Tasha and I exchange confused glances- why would the receptionist call Clint?

My brother takes the phone hesitantly, almost as if unsure whether or not Bruce was telling the truth, and holds it to his ear.

"Hello?"

I have never seen my brother's face drain of all color that fast. I've seen him in various levels of blood loss, I've seen him hovering over both Tasha and Phil in hospital beds, but I've never seen him so pale, so completely shocked, as I did in that moment. He drops the phone and runs to the elevator, Tasha shouting after him as I bend over to pick up the line.

"And I hope you'll be joining me soon, little brother," sneers the voice on the other line.

I drop the phone and feel my heart jump to my throat.

"Arlie?" Steve's voice sounds distant- far away, as I look towards the elevator my brother has taken down.

Tasha looks over at me sharply and I suddenly come back to earth with a sharp exhale of breath. I go to run after Clint, but Tasha grabs me and holds me back.

"Arlie- whatever it is- he'd better go on his own- Arlie!" she shouts as I stuggle against her.

"NO- no- no, Tasha! It's _Barney_!" I yell as I break away and run.

It's Barney.


	59. Interlude: Have the Next Dance

**Warning: this has not been edited. At all. This interlude is probably a huge mess. Either way, here it is!**

**I'm still struggling with that writer's block, but it's slowly but surely coming along. Bright side: I'm getting my wisdom teeth out today which means for the next week I won't have work or anything so I'll have loads of time to write! (In theory)**

**So I wanted a little Sterlie and this just flew out of my brain so here we are! Some romance for our favorite super soldier and hacker. :D They're just so cute. Anyways, hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for all the encouragement you guys give! Really- it's just fabulous!**

* * *

**July 20th, 2012 (Steve)**

I walk off the elevator and into the common room, planning on heading straight for the kitchen for a huge lunch after my workout in the gym. However, the sight of the entire team in the room gives me a moment's pause. Arlie's lounging on the couch, her feet propped up in her brother's lap, and Natasha is curled up in a chair next to him. Bruce is standing off to the side, his lips twitching slightly in a way that betrays amusement. Come to think of it, everyone looks amused and I quickly figure out why. Tony and Pepper are standing in the middle of the room, having one of their conversations where they talk over each other and argue.

"It's a charity ball for your company, you need to come," Pepper sighs.

"Ah- actually, it's your company now, Miss CEO."

"Tony," she has a warning in her voice. "You just need five or so hours Sunday-"

The billionaire cuts her off, "Ah- see- I can't. Got a…thing on Sunday."

Pepper smirks and replies evenly, but with a hint of laughter in her voice, "Good thing it's tomorrow then."

Bruce chuckles while Tony stammers a bit before pointing accusingly at Pepper, "You did that on purpose," he admonishes.

Arlie takes this opportunity to stand up and chime in, "To be fair, Tony, she has a point. It maybe her company, but it's your name. You should put in an appearance. And it's not like you don't enjoy parties."

"I'm glad you think so, Arlie," Pepper says with a smile, "That means it'll be no trouble for you to come as well."

Arlie turns to the CEO in shock. "Wait- what?"

Pepper just smiles.

"What?" Arlie repeats, clearly realizing this has gone in a direction she hadn't intended, "Why do I have to go?" Suddenly, I'm having a vision of Arlie as a little girl, whining to a small child-like Hawkeye about how he should let her play with his bow. I'm not sure if this ever happened, but the image does give me a chuckle.

"You're head of the Technological Development Department; we've got investors there that night as well. Besides, it's not like you don't enjoy parties," Pepper parrots Arlie's words back to her.

"But, why?" she whines, "It's a stupid idea I mean it's not like-" Pepper is suddenly glaring at the brunette, causing Arlie to shift into a falsely cheery voice, "I mean, that's a great idea, Pepper. I think it's fabulous. No wonder you were made woman of the year."

Arlie spends a few minutes stammering while Pepper dashes off to a side closet.

"Here," she says, throwing a bag into Arlie's arms, "Wear this. Do your hair, make up, we can go out and make a day of it if you'd like."

"Jesus, what is in this? A ton of bricks?" Arlie asks, shuffling the plastic covered dress in her arms as she regains her voice, "And- ok- I'll go, but I won't wear this," she takes a quick look at Pepper's face and back tracks, "Unless some conditions are met."

Pepper sighs, reading to negotiate, "And those are?"

Arlie looks around quickly; then her eyes light up, "The whole team has to go," she says in a rush of breath.

"Done," Pepper replies at the same time as Barton quickly sits up straight and exclaims, "Whoa- hold your horses here, munchkin. I do _not_ want to wear a monkey suit."

"I'm wearing a dress; tough luck."

"Arlie- I _will_ start telling embarrassing stories," he says, standing and pointing at his little sister.

"Oh, good," Tony says, sliding onto a bar stool, "And I thought this'd be boring."

"Don't you dare," hisses Arlie at her brother, barely noting Tony's comment.

The archer turns to the room at large, "Arlie went through a phase where she sang Spice Girls nonstop whenever she was cleaning her apartment. She still does sometimes," he smirks at her.

"God, bird brain, shut up," she mutters, clearly made uncomfortable. Then, her eyes light up and she retaliates, "Clint used to take violin lessons!"

"Really?" asks Natasha, turning to look at the archer.

"Arlie was so scared after she saw Jaws the first time, she wouldn't even take a bath," he shoots back, ignoring the Russian's remark.

Arlie's mouth moves silently for a moment and her brother smirks.

"What- run out of dirt, munchkin?"

"I'm biding my time, bird brain," she huffs and glares at him before slowly starting to grin, "I have baby pictures," she sing-songs, grinning evilly.

"Wait- you do?" he asks, momentarily distracted.

She nods, "The System gave them to me when I was eighteen- didn't you go through all my boxes?"

The archer looks stunned, "I must've missed one," he murmurs.

"I've got them on my floor- wanna look?"

"There any of mom and dad?"

She nods, "I think so. I mean, it's got adults in them- I just assumed," she shuffles a little uncomfortably.

Natasha takes this moment to diffuse the suddenly very private moment the siblings are having publicly.

"You two go on and find the box, I'll bring you down some soda," she shoos them to the elevator and Arlie doesn't even seem to notice that she's carrying the dress Pepper gave her to wear tomorrow night.

"How old was she when-?" Bruce cuts himself off from asking but Natasha answers anyways.

"She was five. Clint was seven."

"Shit," Tony mutters before taking a drink.

And, really, what else can you say to that?

* * *

**July 21st, 2012**

"She'll be here in a minute," Natasha's voice breaks through my thoughts and I realize I've been scanning the room for Arlie. We're waiting in a sort of entryway for the entire group so we can all walk into the main room together. I chuckle lightly and adjust the cuffs on my suit. "She and Clint were up late last night, going through all of Arlie's stuff, so she overslept and has been running late all day."

"I- I wasn't," but the Russian cuts me off with a small smirk.

"Yes. You were." I look at the woman standing next to me. She's in a short black dress (or what I consider short- standards have changed since my day) and I idly find myself wondering how many concealed weapons she has on her. I'm fairly certain neither she nor Hawkeye go anywhere without at least five. "I promise not to tell Clint, though," she teases me. Fortunately, at this moment Bruce enters in his suit, mercifully sparing me from more teasing from the redhead.

"Well, this should be fun," he jokes and then nods at Natasha, "You look very nice."

She gives him a small smile and it's at that moment that Arlie walks into the room on her brother's arm, and I lose all semblance of coherent thought.

She's wearing a long red gown that follows her curves and then drops in a soft fall of fabric to the floor, with a dark blood-red sash across the middle, drawing my eyes to her waist. Her shoulders are bare, but falling loosely around part of each upper arm is a sort of gauzy fabric that provides a shimmering contrast to the solid red of the rest of her dress. She's got three necklaces of varying length around her throat and a gold bracelet on her wrist. Her soft brown hair, which normally she leaves down and loose, is twisted up into a high bun and her bangs are pinned to one side in order to frame her face further. With her hair up like that, you can clearly see the large gold earrings she's got on. Her lips are the same color as her dress and her blue grey eyes are a sharp contrast to all the red she's wearing, standing out even more than usual.

_Wow._

"Breathe, grandpa," comes Tony's voice from behind the brother and sister- he and Pepper have entered. His comment earns me a glare from Agent Barton, and the billionaire laughs at my expense. Natasha, mercifully, smooths things over. She glides over to the Bartons and links her arm through Hawkeye's.

"Walk me in?" she asks softly. He casts a glance at his sister from the corner of his eye and the Russian and hacker respond by rolling theirs.

"Bird brain," and the marksman receives a soft slap upside the head.

"Alright kiddies," Tony says while slapping his hands together, "Let's get this show on the road."

He and Pepper enter first, and I follow after them. After a few minutes of greeting various well-dressed people, I realize that the assassins and Bruce have hung back. I can understand for the SHIELD Agents- they were trained to only be this public when they have cover identities. Dr. Banner seems to just be awkward or shy, but suddenly, in a whirl of red, Arlie descends on him and hooks her arm through his. Within minutes, she has the Doctor talking and laughing with a small group of what I assume are other scientists. Clearly out of her depth, but enjoying herself anyways, Arlie stays by his side until, at some unknown signal, she decides he's comfortable enough for her to extract herself and leave him be.

She scans the crowd, seeing Tony and Pepper both mingling and her brother and the Russian obviously keeping each other entertained, she sends a smirk in Bruce's direction, then her eyes meet mine. One eyebrow rises in response to my stare, and I can feel myself blushing.

My shoes are suddenly very interesting.

When I look back up, I can't see her in the crowd anymore, and before I have a chance to seek Arlie out, another well-dressed patron is standing in front of me.

"Ah, Captain," he says, holding out his hand for me to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you, really. I was hoping to talk to you about some things, actually."

"Ah, yes, of course-" I trail off, uncertain of the fellow's name.

"Right- didn't introduce myself. I'm Senator Roberts of New York."

"Right- nice to meet you, Senator."

"Now, back to the reason I started chatting you up," he gives me a phony smile, "I wanted to talk to you about New York. See, the city's been hit hard after that battle. Lots of destruction from you guys and those aliens. Buildings collapsed, pipes busted, the whole nine yards."

"Yes- I think, though, that the city's been recovering well. A lot of people are coming together-"

"Precisely," the man interrupts me, "And there's been a curious lack of involvement in clean up from…what do you call yourselves now?"

"The Avengers," climes a voice behind me, and I turn to see Arlie has come to my rescue, "They're called the Avengers," she gives the senator a saccharine smile, "I'm sorry to jump into the conversation, but I've been looking all over for Steve," she links her arm through mine, "Please, continue with whatever you were saying."

"I was just discussing with the Captain here about how extensive and, well, expensive the clean up has been, and-"

"And you were wondering why the Avengers weren't doing more?" she asks, her voice seemingly conversational, but there was a hardness underneath that I could hear, even if the senator was oblivious to it. But Arlie continues, "As I understand it, Tony Stark has donated millions to help with relief for those whose homes were destroyed, and has used the abilities of his Iron Man suit to help with a few odd jobs. Dr. Banner has been lending his add to scientific research in helping develop better materials for construction and more energy efficient ways to clean up the city. On top of all that," her voice was no longer concealing the flinty undertone, "They saved everyone's lives from not only an alien invasion, but a nuclear bomb."

"Yes, but the Avenger's war-"

She cuts him off again, "Incorrect, sir. That was not the Avenger's War. That was a war against all of humanity. The entire planet. Or did you miss the "alien" bit? The Avengers were the exterminators who cleaned up your pest problem for you. You're lucky they didn't charge. Now, I've heard a lot of talk- lots of politicians blaming the Avengers for the destruction of the city. I'd like to tell you right now sir- they didn't destroy the city. They saved it. They're rebuilding it. You, and people like you, are poisoning it."

There was silence for a few moments as the senator tried to recover, "And just who might you be?" he finally stammered out.

Arlie's back to that sickly sweet smile, "Arlie Barton, Head of Stark's Technological Development Department, and you are?"

"Senator Roberts,"

"Ah- yes, Senator. I'm familiar with your work."

"Really?"

"Yes- I voted against nearly everything you stand for. Enjoy the party," and with that, our arms still linked, she sashays away, bringing me with her.

I stared down at her.

"You are amazing," I breathe out. I suddenly realize I said that out loud and I could feel myself blushing. Arlie blushes a little as well and giggles.

"Not really, I'm just more willing to piss people off. I've got a lot of practice."

"You want to dance?" I find myself saying next. I'm starting to really wonder what happened to my verbal filter, because I can't seem to stop myself from just blurting things out around her. She, however, gives me a small smile and nods her head. "I mean," I begin to stutter a little, tripping over my words, "Dancing now is…a lot different from when I-"

She cuts me off, "How about I just follow your lead? I haven't forgotten the dance lessons you gave me."

I sigh and nod, leading her to the dance floor. Standing slightly off to the side, I wrap one arm around her waist and the other clasps with her hand as we begin to dance the way I knew how. She followed me easily, clearly she wasn't making it up when she said she hadn't forgotten the dance lessons I gave her.

Strangely enough, dancing with her finally relaxes me, and I feel the tension leave with a sigh. Arlie notices, of course, and looks up at me with a smile and a chuckle. I notice at that moment just how short she is- I mean, there is definitely a reason her brother calls her "munchkin."

"Thanks for saving me," I tell her, leaning down so she can hear me over the music.

She looks up with a smile, "You're welcome. It's no big deal- I've been waiting to let some pent-up aggression out since I was forced to put on this dress."

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

The song ended, and we slowly came to a stand-still, but I still held onto her waist and hand. "What now?" I ask.

Arlie shrugs and rewards me with another smile. "You can have the next dance, if you want."

I look down at her and feel my lips twitch upwards and in the back of my mind I'm hoping she's not standing close enough where she can feel how my heart skips a beat.

"I'd be honored."


	60. Baby Sister

**So remember how I was going to get all this writing done while I was off work because of my wisdom teeth? Turns out- haha- pain meds and typing do not mesh well. I did write, but not much of it was usable. :D Therefore, I am basically working from scratch because clearly, I cannot handle medication. I'm such a lightweight. No one who knows me is surprised. Thank god I've never needed to take anything heavier than some cold medicine (which still makes me loopy) before now.**

**Anyways- I'm pretty much all better (though Ibuprofen is still my best friend) and I've managed to make coherent sentences now! Yay! So this is what I attempted to write while I was chugging down milkshakes, and have since reworked and edited. Hopefully there aren't too many errors. Either way- enjoy!**

* * *

**July 28th, 2012 (Steve)**

I watch as Arlie struggles against Natasha in an effort to go after her brother. In the back of my head, I'm wondering why the Russian is even trying, seeing as nothing, not magic, Norse gods, or SHIELD, can keep Arlie from getting to her brother. The majority of my brain, however, is focusing on what on earth could have possibly unnerved Agent Barton and his sister so much in the first place.

I recall Hawkeye during the Battle of New York- he was stoic, in control, barely fazed by the aliens that were raining down on us. His calm rivaled Natasha's, and only broke whenever he thought the safety of his sister was threatened. What words, whispered over a telephone, could break that calm?

_If Arlie was threatened…_

Just as I complete the thought, the girl herself is taking off, yelling that "it's Barney!" before disappearing from our sight in her race to get to her brother. Natasha pales slightly, understanding dawning on her face, and I take a quick glance around the room. Everyone else looks just as confused as me.

"What's a purple dinosaur have to do with this?" Tony asks. I don't get the reference, but I certainly support the question.

Natasha turns to us, her eyes wide and her mouth seeming to struggle for words to say.

"Barney," she sighs, unable to find her voice she shrugs and lifts her hands helplessly, "He's an old…enemy, really, of Clint's," she turns so her eyes follow the direction of the Barton siblings, her voice taking a far-away sound, "He made Clint what he is."

A certain chill descends on the room, because none of us get the feeling that when the redhead is talking about what Barton "is" she's referencing how he's a loving brother or skilled marksman.

She's talking about how he became an assassin.

* * *

**July 28th, 2012 (Clint)**

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might beat itself right out of my chest.

_Barney. How the hell did he find us? He must have seen the news segments on the Battle. Oh god- he put the pieces together. What the hell do we do now? It's Barney. Barney Barney_

I race into the lobby, looking around wildly. I don't see the familiar form of my long-lost, and long-dreaded, older brother. I'd know him within seconds, I'm sure.

After all, I still see him in my nightmares.

Dashing outside next, I begin to look at each person in the street. My training forgotten, everything I've learned is taken over by the panic I'm feeling and the overwhelming confusion. My eyes dart from here to there, no order in my search, and I'm almost certain I would've stepped out into the street in a few seconds if I hadn't heart her voice.

"Clint!" Arlie shouts from behind me, and as I'm turning there's another sound that I can just hear over the crowded street- her voice hitches as she gasps.

My heart sinks into my shoes as I set eyes on both of my siblings, standing side-by-side, Arlie's eyes wide and frightened, and Barney's cold and distant. _He's smirking,_ is the thought that manages to make its way from the tangle that is my subconscious to the forefront of my brain. Why this one- I have no idea. Almost silently, Arlie and Barney turn and walk into Stark Tower, and they sit down in the lobby on a couch. Following, I sit in a chair across from them.

"Well, isn't this a nice little family reunion?" Barney sneers.

* * *

**July 28th, 2012 (Steve)**

I'm quite sure all of our hearts collectively stop when the team walks of the elevator to see Arlie sitting next to a strange man as Clint sits across from them with his hands up, slightly pleading, to show he has no weapons. Judging by the look, it's an entirely unintentional motion, and I find myself about to do the same and approach them. The eyes of the man I assume to be this "Barney," look up and land on us all- the smile he gives is chilling and his voice is just loud enough to carry to us.

"Well, there they are. I wouldn't come any closer, gang. Little Arlie wouldn't feel very good about that," he turns and smirks at the marksman after ensuring that the entire Avengers team has frozen in place, "Superheroes, huh? But we both know you were never a superhero, Clint. Oh, sure, you liked to play at it growing up, but that was all it was- pretend. Now, I have a favor to ask of you and I've got a present here for Arlie if you don't help me out, little brother." He throws an arm around Arlie, who stiffens further and turns her head away slightly, as if trying to put as much distance between the two of them as she possibly can without getting him angry. "Oh, don't be like that, baby sister," he croons, frowning at her, "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised- it always was you two. Clint was your favorite big brother, and you just adored everything he did, didn't you? Well, baby sister, I could tell you some stories about our brother that would _disgust_ you," the man turns to the archer again with a smirk, "You'd never want to look at his stupid face again if I were to tell you what I know."

"She knows already, Barney," the Agent's voice is a whisper.

"Oh- you told her everything did you? All the details? How about the sound the bodies made when they hit the floor? Or the shapes the blood spatter turned into once the arrow went through them? Or the sounds they made as they begged for life or death? Did you tell little innocent Arlie that? Or could you not stomach it? Had to protect baby sister from the world?" he smirks at Arlie, "He always was trying to keep you safe. That's why he became what he is, you know. It's all your fault- he was just trying to get back to you, trying to save you. It's _always_ been about you, baby sister. It all comes down to _you_."

"Please," Arlie's voice is so soft we can barely hear it where we stand about five feet away, "_Please_, Barney. You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I think I do, baby sister. You see, Clint there apparently doesn't care about family as much as he claims. Left me high and dry. You'll see though, he'll do the same to you one day. But imagine my surprise when I see him on the TV one day, saving the world. Or claiming to. How was that alien invasion, little brother? Do you count those bodies too or do they not make the tally since they weren't really human?"

"Barney," Arlie repeats and he turns to the brunette with a grin.

"Oh- I see. Now it's not just him always protecting you now is it? He needs little Arlie to protect him, too. Well, now: I wasn't expecting that."

"What do you want, Barney?" Clint speaks up, his voice low and strained. His entire body is radiating tension, and I briefly wonder if he'll ever be able to move again, he is so stiff.

"I told you: a favor. I've got something that I need your particular skill set for, and I want the best of the best for a bargain price. So, Kid Wonder Shot, I want the Amazing Hawkeye to finish a job for me," he tosses a file onto the coffee table between them, "And in return, you'll get baby sister back safe and sound."

"Clint-" Arlie begins but her brother cuts her off.

"What are you going to do with her, Barney?"

For a moment, he does not answer, instead looking carefully at the girl he's got captured beside him, and when he does speak, it's in a soft voice, barely audible, "God, she looks just like mom. Except something about her nose- do you remember mom calling Arlie her little watermelon? She was so tiny and she just _loved_ watermelon. Wasn't supposed to eat it yet, but we'd mush it up real good and she'd just inhale it. Ate more watermelon than anyone I know. Do you still eat watermelon, baby sister?"

Arlie's voice trembled, "Yeah."

"I think it's time for a family reunion," Barney resumed, looking over at Hawkeye, "I'll get her back to you as soon as you finish the job."

"Barney-"

"Ah ah ah- no buts. Do the job, little brother, and don't worry- she's my baby sister, too."

This seems to be too much for the marksman, "You gave up that right a long time ago, Barney."

"Blood isn't something you ever can give up. It's not something that washes out. Blood is a stain, little brother- and it stays with you forever.

"Now, come on, baby sister, time to go." And with that, he stands with Arlie and leads her out of the building, pressing some weapon I can't distinguish up against her the whole time.

"Crap," comes Tony's voice over everything, and everyone else stands in muted horror. Arlie's gone.

We troop up the elevator silently, Agent Barton's glare practically burning holes through the file he's got clutched in his hands. When the doors open, he dashes out, followed closely by Natasha, and they make a beeline to the weapons.

"Whoa whoa whoa- what are you doing?" I ask, blocking the elevator as they continue to gather deadly item after deadly item.

"We're getting my sister back, what's it look like we're doing?" growls the archer.

"And how are you going to do that?" chimes in Tony, his arms crossed as he frowns at the assassins.

"However it takes," the redhead answers this time, examining one gun before loading it and tucking it into a holster.

"No," I state, earning me two deadly looks from both SHIELD agents, but, ignoring all sense of self-preservation, I plow ahead anyways, "You can't do that, because all you're going to do is get someone killed. Possibly Arlie. You've got no plan, no backup beyond each other, and you've got no idea what the big picture is."

"I don't need the big picture," the marksman's voice is low, his posture radiating fury, and I actually feel intimidated by this man- this perfectly ordinary man who has no powers, no super suit, but is nonetheless a hero. And a hero to his sister. "I just need my sister back."

"I need her, too," I tell him without bothering to censor my words, "And there is no way we're getting her back if you dash off half-cocked."

"You said he was an enemy," comes Bruce's voice, directed at Natasha.

"He is an enemy," is the Russian's reply.

"But he's their brother?"

"No," Barton's voice is final, "He stopped being our brother a long time ago. He isn't family. And it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry- but your family is like a damn soap opera- any other siblings hiding in the woodwork?" snarks Tony, "Do you have an evil twin?" He quiets down with a glare from the Russian.

"Listen to me: this is my sister who is on the line here, and I will get her back. Come on, Tasha," he says, and then makes for the elevator, but I'm still blocking it.

"No," I repeat, "No way. We all want Arlie back-"

He cuts me off with a snarl, "This is MY sister. This is my _baby sister_. It's _Arlie_."

"You think we don't care about her either?" questions Bruce. "We want her back, too. So let us help."

Suddenly, Natasha's hand is on the archer's shoulder, and she softly whispers his name. He shakes his head, still staring me down, until she lightly squeezes and then he slowly, very slowly, turns to her.

"I didn't remember," he whispers, "I'd forgotten about watermelons."

"You were too young," she murmurs back. Then, she squeezes his shoulder once more, "It's Arlie. We have to do this right."


End file.
